


All is found

by Ostodvandi



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, M/M, Minor Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring, Minor Claude von Riegan/Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Trans Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 08:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27348343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ostodvandi/pseuds/Ostodvandi
Summary: Dimitri and Felix have been soulmates since the moment they were born, a rarity within an already uncommon phenomenon. Their childhood is easy and the course for the future seems set. Yet in the wake of the Tragedy and Western Rebellion, the trust Felix had for Dimitri is shattered. Sylvain assumes he doesn't have a soulmate. When he awakens to the mark of an extinct Crest, that's all turned on its head. Yet, from their first encounter, Yuri wants nothing to do with him.No Goddess-ordained bond can restore their faith in a love without limits or conditions. But perhaps, with time and effort, they'll be able to take their destinies into their own hands.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22
Collections: Dimilix Big Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dimilix big bang! Yeehaw! With art from the most wonderful [Sirane](https://twitter.com/valeskyia)! So go check her art out. :)

A dome of stars above their heads shines down on them, moonless, and as cold as most Faerghus nights are. A king and his right hand man stand on a balcony, looking up at the clusters of white spots in the sky, deciphering their forms, but only one of them speaks.

'And that one,' Loog says, pointing at a particular star that shines the brightest. ‘What would you call that one, my friend?'

Kyphon's lips feel sealed, glued together by the uncomfortable lump in his throat. If he speaks, his voice will surely break. Maybe Loog senses this, and that's why he continues without an answer. 'It's the star that shines brighter in Faerghus. Our guide and hope, loyally surrounded by others. It sounds like that star is some sort of king - but do you know what I'd call it, Kyphon?'

'...What, Your Majesty?'

Loog takes Kyphon's hands in his, kissing his knuckles. 'The king's right hand.' Kyphon sighs and Loog smiles against his skin. ‘What is the matter, Kyphon?’

‘Nothing my king should be bothered with.’

Loog sighs, pulling a strand of Kyphon’s hair behind his ear. ‘As prideful as always.'

'You said you wouldn't have it any other way.'

'And I wouldn't. Just like I wouldn't have anyone else, if I could choose.'

Loog puts their foreheads together, and Kyphon closes his eyes. _If he could choose_. Will anyone after them be able to choose? He doesn't know. He doesn't know if their attempt at a nation will result in something durable. He doesn't know if Loog will forget about their love once he gets used to his church-approved wife. 

But there is one thing he knows for certain.

His soul will always belong by Loog’s side.

* * *

For as long as Felix can remember, two things have been certain in his life: Dimitri, and the Blaiddyd mark on the back of his right hand. Glenn wasn't born with it, which marked Felix, alongside his major Crest, as the one to inherit the title of Duke.

He knows his father has the mark as well, as did his father and everyone before them up until Kyphon, the first Fraldarius to bear the Blaiddyd soulmark, and the first to swear his loyalty and soul to a Blaiddyd. Loog had accepted his offering, and every heir to Fraldarius since then bore the mark, even when no Blaiddyd showed the Fraldarius Crest on their skin. 

But his case was special. He had been told so many times before, but he wouldn’t stop hearing it: The Goddess had made him and his Blaiddyd soulmates, which meant they were supposed to be together forever. 

And he wouldn’t mind being with Dimitri for the rest of his days, as the grown-ups would say. In fact, he’d rather not be separated from him at all: He is at his happiest when near Dimitri, and every farewell feels like saying goodbye to one of his limbs. Glenn would always tease him about it, and Felix would complain about Glenn being the one allowed to stay at Fhirdiad when he wasn’t.

It made _logical_ sense: Glenn was going to become a royal knight, sure, but Felix was his _soulmate_ , and, just as importantly, his best friend. That was one thing that wasn’t going to change. Other things that seemed to be set in stone - like Felix’s own birth name - had changed, but his affection for Dimitri was unshakeable. 

There was something calming about having a part of his life secured like that, and Felix wouldn’t change it for anything.

* * *

‘I want to stay with Mitya!’

Felix’s tantrum makes the servants and guards giggle, and Rodrigue pinces the bridge of his nose in frustration. ‘It would be disrespectful.’

‘How so? We’ve always slept together!’ Felix puts his hands on his hips, inhaling air and straightening his back to feel bigger. Still, Rodrigue isn’t impressed, and Felix pouts. ‘Father!’

‘Again, it would be disrespectful, and inappropriate,’ Rodrigue insists. ‘You’re too old for that.’

Felix stomps on the ground. ‘I’m not!’ Dimitri laughs behind him, covering his mouth with his hand. Felix turns to him, lowering his voice as if Rodrigue isn’t close enough to hear. ‘Mitya, tell him! He always listens to you!’

‘He doesn’t always listen to me…’ Dimitri admits between giggles. ‘But please, Lord Rodrigue? Just this time?’

The Duke sighs, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head to the side. It’s fairly easy to resist Felix’s pleading at this point, but the prince and his politeness are another entire tactic of tugging at Rodrigue’s heartstrings. Felix knows this, and he’s using it, the little rascal. ‘I suppose… but please do keep in mind this will be the last time.’

This is the third time he has told them this, but nobody has to remind him of that.

‘Thank you, Rodrigue!’ Dimitri hugs him, barely controlling his strength as he does so, but Rodrigue is nothing if not used to physical affection from a Blaiddyd Crest bearer. His bones might as well be made of silver at this point. ‘Thank you so much!’

Dimitri and Felix’s wide smiles are one of the advantages of being a little too lenient with them, even if it means going against everything his parents taught him about fatherhood. ‘No need to thank me, Dimitri. But I don’t need to request that you two behave, do I?’

‘We’re old already!’ Felix whines, one of his hands grabbing Dimitri’s tunic. A gesture that never changes. ‘We can behave.’

Rodrigue laughs, even though he knows they’re both going to stay up until late. But that’s just how youth goes if his childhood by Lambert’s side was anything to go by. 

Granted, there is a vital difference between what Lambert and he were, and what Dimitri and Felix are. Rodrigue was born for Lambert, the same way most descendants of Kyphon were born to aid their respective descendants of Loog. But Felix and Dimitri were born for each other.

He couldn’t have that sort of lifelong joy for himself, but Felix can, and that’s good enough.

* * *

‘Do you two need to be kissed goodnight?’ Glenn stands by the door of what was supposed to be Felix's room, with the crooked smirk he always uses to tease his little brother and his prince. 'You just have to ask, Fefe.'

It works, because Felix's cheeks turn red and his face puffs up. 'No, we don't! Obviously!'

'Oh, is that so? What a big boy you have become.' He ruffles Felix's hair and laughs. ‘Barely two years ago, you'd always ask me or father to-'

'Stop embarrassing me in front of everyone! Geesh…' He pouts, turning his back to him to walk to the prince's room. 

'Sorry, sorry, Fefe.' But he isn't all that sorry, judging by the way he's laughing at him as he follows his steps. 'I can't help it. I was born for this.'

'For embarrassing me?'

'Precisely,' he snorts. 'Protecting you and the royal family as well. I'm a man of many destinies.'

Felix huffs. The word "destiny" is one said often in the Fraldarius household, usually always directed at him, rarely ever told about Glenn. He doesn’t have the soulmark, because there is no Blaiddyd he has to serve. He doesn’t have the Crest of Daphnel either, and yet he’s supposed to marry Ingrid.

Felix halts and turns to his brother. 'Hey, Glenn.' 

He halts. ‘Yes?'

'If someone turned out to be Ingrid's soulmate,' he says, fidgeting with a strand of his hair. 'What would you do?'

Glenn bites his lip and frowns. 'I suppose Father would break off the betrothal. It depends on him and ount Galatea, so… You should ask them.' That doesn't sit well with Felix, and Glenn must notice, because he smiles and pats Felix’s back.'Sometimes these things aren't about romance and soulmates, Fefe. You and Mityushka are an exception to the rule.'

An exception. Their link has always been described at that: An exception, a blessing, a miracle even. Signs from the Goddess for this and that. He's never cared about it as long as he could be by Dimitri's side.

* * *

During sunny days, especially in Faerghus, it feels like nothing can really go wrong. It’s one of those days when the flags of Faerghus and the royal guard are caressed by the southern winds, when Glenn stands by Dimitri’s side in full armor, checking that the young prince hasn’t forgotten anything. When Rodrigue discusses the finest details of the trip with Lambert, a worried expression on his face. When lady Cornelia is relegated to a corner, talking to a lady familiar to Felix, but he can’t quite point out who she is.

When everyone seems to forget Felix exists for a while, because this is an important event: The royal family traveling to Duscur to establish peace and friendship with their people. After the war in Sreng, king Lambert has decided to proceed on the peaceful side with these negotiations, and it shows in the way the kingdom knights smile and laugh among them, kissing their children and partners goodbye.

Felix observes them with wide, shiny eyes, and wishes Ingrid could’ve seen this congregation of knighthood she so admires. He likes to think that one day she will be here, because Glenn would never try to stop her from fulfilling her dream, no matter what the adults say. As for himself, there isn’t much he could even wish for.

‘Are you completely ready, Your Highness?’ Glenn questions, one hand on his hip and another on the hilt of his sword. ‘It’s going to be a long trip so you better be sure.’

‘I think so…’

‘The ring!’ Felix says suddenly, startling Dimitri. ‘Are you carrying the ring?’

Dimitri laughs, and tugs softly at his right glove, revealing a pale hand with a silver ring on his index. ‘Of course. I could never leave it behind.’

Felix sighs in relief, lips curling into a sweet smile as he himself takes off his glove, showing his own promise ring. The Crest of Blaiddyd that rests on the back of his hand is uncovered too, and he shows it off proudly for anyone that might pass by and give them a look. ‘Good! Because I wouldn’t forgive you if you forgot.’

‘Now, now, that’s enough.’ Glenn interrupts, patting their backs. ‘It’s almost time to go, so we have to say our goodbyes.’ 

He’s never been good at that, and even if he’s been preparing for this moment for weeks, he feels an immense restlessness grow in his chest at the thought of watching Dimitri depart. 

Dimitri begins by holding Felix’s right hand between his own, giving him a calm smile. ‘It’s going to be fine, Felix. I’ll come back sooner than you’ll realize, with many presents for you and Lord Rodrigue.’

But he doesn’t want presents, he wants to go with him. His father declined the idea, and very emphatically so, so Felix had had no chance to even insist. ‘I guess… But you have to be safe.’

‘C0me on, Fefe,’ Glenn whines, pouting like a small kid. ‘He has the best knight in the world defending him, doesn’t he? Have some faith in me.’ He ruffles Felix’s hair, to which the youngest Fraldarius groans. King Lambert, Father, and that lady walk closer to them, and the worried grimace still hasn’t vanished from the Duke’s face. 

‘Mityushka, Glenn,’ the king calls, immediately getting his son’s attention. ‘We must go.’

‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

Dimitri simply nods, always so ready for everything, so proper for every occasion. His blue eyes meeting Felix’s give him some of the ease he needs, the knowledge that as long as they are waiting for each other somewhere, things are always going to turn out alright. ‘See you soon, Felix.’

‘...Y-Yes.’ Felix feels the weight of Rodrigue’s hands on his shoulders and the shadow of Lady Cornelia hovering over him. Both keep him from running to Dimitri’s side. ‘See you soon, Mitya.’

From there, everything follows its usual course: Glenn and another knight escort Lambert and Dimitri to their carriages. Glenn gets on his horse. The knights that will remain in the capital blow the trumpets to announce the start of the voyage that will keep the royal family away from Fhirdiad for a month and a half and Felix’s heart shrinks at the sound.

He looks up, and Cornelia’s slim figure cuts the bright, blue sky that promised good omens.

  
  


He and Father make their way back to their territory shortly after the ceremony is over, father and son locked in their carriage with their minds elsewhere. Felix has brought a book Dimitri lent him - a reinterpretation of Loog, Kyphon, and Pan’s stories he’d been reading, recommended by one of his tutors, but the book has been tossed to Felix’s lap in favor of the familiar spring landscape of the Faerghus north. 

‘Father,’ Felix says, startling Rodrigue out of the odd stupor he had been in since before the king had publicly announced his diplomatic trip. ‘What kind of flowers do they have in Duscur? Are they different?’

‘I… I’m afraid I don’t know,’ Rodrigue responds, trying to offer Felix a tired smile. ‘I have never been there.’

‘But I know things from places I haven’t been to,’ Felix complains, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘Isn’t there a book on Duscurian flowers? Or plants or anything?’

‘I don’t know.’ Felix huffs. He hates it when he says that. ‘I’m sorry, Felix. I promise that when we get home I’ll scour the library for books about Duscur.’

Felix hums, somewhat content with that, and opens the book again. Instead of the usual bookmark, there’s a bunch of small dried flowers on the last page Felix bothered reading before giving up. ‘Do you think they have a lot of snow too? Or is it like the Empire?’

‘I’d say they should have a good amount of snow, much like Arianrhod,’ Rodrigue comments, and, for the first time since they left the capital, his expression looks genuine. ‘Perhaps even like Derdriu… The aquatic capital, they call it.’ 

Felix has heard about it: A place where many roads are made of water instead of soil, filled with gorgeous bridges. ‘I want to see Derdriu!’

Rodrigue laughs. ‘I’d certainly love to visit too. Maybe when they come back from Duscur, we could go. All three of us.’

‘And Mitya,’ Felix mentions quickly, backing down just as fast. ‘If that’s ok.’

‘I’m afraid Dimitri will be a little too busy, Felix.’ An answer just as disheartening as he expected. ‘But it should be fun, you, me and Glenn. I bet Lambert would give him a free week or two if he asked for it.’

He’s the perfect knight, recognized by the King himself. The most talented of his generation, he had been called. Glenn could achieve anything he wanted if he put his mind on it. ‘One day I’ll live in Fhirdiad too, right?’

Rodrigue nods, and Felix fidgets with the ring on his finger. ‘As the King’s shield, yes.’

And consort, but that word is veiled, hidden behind the title of the shield his father earned for himself in Sreng. And that title would fit Glenn miles better anyway. Felix’s duty would be to advise Dimitri, to be by his side through thick and thin, and to eventually continue the line of succession.

But he didn’t want to think about it right now. In fact, the less anyone talked about that last point, the better.

* * *

It happens late into the night. He wakes up, covered in cold sweat, shaking like a leaf in the middle of a blizzard, and he sees it.

(Felix sees the fields covered in fire, smells the scorched skin, hears the wails, tastes the blood in Dimitri’s mouth, feels the burns and a broken joint, the weight of something or someone squashing him - a corpse. The corpse falls with a horrible sound, and he sees it- he sees Glenn’s armor, Glenn’s hair, Glenn’s vacant eyes-)

‘Father!’ he screams with his own voice, back in his own body, and stumbles as he rushes to the door. ‘Father! Father! Someone!’

But there is already agitation in the hallway: His father is there, unable to stand on his feet, held by two servants. His lips move in words Felix can’t bother to understand right now.

‘Father!’ He screams again, running to his side. ‘Father, I saw it! Glenn and Mitya!’

Felix halts when he gets a good look at his father’s face. Pale, staring into nothingness, muted by pain. One hand grasping his chest like he’s been impaled through his lungs. Tears dropping on the carpet. Felix suddenly understands. 

The King is dead.

* * *

It feels like he’s out of his own body. Like a puppeteer has taken the reins of his every movement to spare him the need to act on his own, to think, to process anything. The boy by his side is also absent, his eyes too look through everything Dimitri could ever see.

That’s fine. Dimitri keeps him close and learns his name - Dedue. He’s clenching a golden earring in his hands, and Dimitri stares at it for a while. It’s a bird mixed with a beetle, and he tries to reach for it once. The boy gasps and puts it away from his reach, and Dimitri nods. 

Time passes. They’re hungry and tired, filled with burns and wounds, but he doesn’t dare to close his eyes and rest, because those people could come back for him and Dedue. He’s seen flashes of Felix - safe, back in the Fraldarius manor. He’s crying when they switch, those big tears of his running down his cheeks. If Dimitri could feel something at the moment, it would break his heart.

Help arrives, eventually, in the form of a group of soldiers led by Gustave. The look of horror mixed with relief on the knight’s face when he finds them is marked in the back of Dimitri’s mind for the rest of his days, just like the smell of death.

He grips Dedue’s hand, even if it hurts to move and his knuckles are raw and bloody when the knights try to separate them. ‘No,’ he says, this being the first word he remembers uttering after seeing Glenn’s corpse lying by his side. ‘No.’

Gustave purses his lips and accepts his request. 

* * *

Many corpses are recovered. Father’s is one of them. Many, like his stepmother’s, aren’t. Oddly enough, Glenn’s body is missing, only his armor remaining, even if Dimitri clearly remembers him being there and dropping dead. The healers Gustave brought with him take care of his and Dedue’s wounds, and no one else’s. Because nobody else survived.

Nobody else is left. His eyes lock with Dedue’s, and even without words, he seems to understand. It’s just the two of them. The only two left standing from this tragedy.

* * *

Rodrigue arrives barely days later, with his own group of Fraldarius soldiers, meeting with Gustave’s squad midway to Fhirdiad. His eyes are reddened and there are incipient dark circles under his eyes, and his arms surround Dimitri with the desperation of someone that had feared the worst. 

Dimitri can barely think of a worse outcome, but he doesn’t say anything, and simply hugs Rodrigue back, as tightly as he can. For the first time since that fateful night, he feels safe. At home.

(He sees the patio of the Fraldarius manor, Felix’s hands turned into fists, the anxiety pumping in his veins because he was left behind. He was left behind in the middle of the uncertainty, with only the scraps the Goddess grants him.)

Dimitri’s heart aches.

* * *

Father comes back, and Dimitri and an unknown boy show up with him at the Fraldarius manor. They're both covered in bandages and Dimitri's long hair has been cut short, probably too singed to save.

But he's alive. He will recover. He is moving on his own, and the unknown boy follows him around, wary of everyone and everything. 

Glenn can't say the same. Any minimal hope Felix could've had of seeing his brother again crashes and burns like everything did the night when tragedy struck, and he’s left to let the bitterness and the pain fester in his stomach, all alone. 

Whenever he and Dimitri switch again, he feels it: A cluster of emotions he doesn’t have time to pick apart properly, but they hit him all the same. Dimitri feels empty, Dimitri is in pain, Dimitri wants to cry. And Felix slowly absorbs that pain into his system as well, as they find ways to communicate with the Duscur boy, whose name is Dedue. He knows very basic Fódlanese, but his handwriting is almost as elegant as Dimitri’s even in a tongue he doesn’t speak.

Father locks himself up in his study, spending hours planning funerals for all his deceased men, for his own son, and for his King; and whenever Felix catches a glimpse of him it’s like witnessing an apparition. Always pale, always tired, always absent. Never aware that Felix is there until he walks away.

Glenn’s funeral is the last of the Fraldarius’ forces. There’s something about the ridiculousness of burying a bunch of metal and leather that latches onto Felix’s mind and fuses with his denial because there wasn’t a body. Even if he saw it, he could’ve lived. Glenn was strong, stronger than anyone except maybe the King himself.

And yet, the King is dead. He had seen his father crying over the corpse of King Lambert, keening as if he were his widower instead. 

The day before the burial, as everyone mourns his loss, Felix steals a black iron spur and presses it tight against his chest, secretly placing it under his pillow. The next day, the servants prepare him for the burial in respectful silence, and give him a strange look, like they can see Glenn behind him, looming over him.

He slips the iron spur inside his pocket before putting on a warm cape and walks out and into the hallway, where Dimitri waits.

‘...Felix.’ His lips are curled into a tired smile that drops quickly, and his blonde hair is as disorganized as the day he arrived. ‘I’m sorry.’

There is nothing Dimitri should be sorry for. There is nothing he should feel regretful for. Felix has felt it: The blame, the loneliness, the agony, all of it, and knows how much it weighs on Dimitri. And his best friend is the same; he surely knows of Felix’s feelings. 

If only he knew a swift way to end these miseries, Felix would give anything to do it. But for now, they wrap each other in a hug, and Felix’s nose rubs Dimitri’s shoulder. 

‘It’s okay,’ he murmurs, even if nothing is okay at all, and it feels like nothing will be. ‘Dima.’

‘I heard Count Galatea and Ingrid just arrived,’ he mentions, in a muted voice. Just in time. ‘We should go.’

Felix hums, breaking the hug, and in the hand Dimitri offers him, there’s a silver ring.

* * *

_He died like a true knight._

He didn’t die a true knight. He died. There is nothing honorable about dying and leaving only a stupid bunch of armor behind. There is nothing glorious in him having to cling to a scrap of his boots, nothing valiant in Felix not being able to hear his brother’s voice ever again. There’s nothing good or valuable in the ghost Rodrigue has become. 

Felix screams it at him, tears filling his eyes, and Rodrigue looks away like a coward would do when faced with the truth of his faults. 

‘I hate you,’ he growls at him, leaving the rest of the attendants and this empty coffin behind. That armor isn’t his brother, it could never be. So he isn’t going to honor it, he decides. He is not going to honor the idea of his brother in that armor, because Glenn is infinitely more than that. He is so much more than that.

Was. He was. Felix sobs and growls, kicking a peddle, and it rolls away and down the road. His chest, head, and throat hurt, and his emotions feel too big for a body so small, overflowing his eyes and his nose into a pathetic image of what he’s supposed to be.

If Glenn were here, he would sit by his side and rub his back, he would call him a big crybaby, and then he would find a way to make him smile again. He’d use bad puns, a funny story, anything, and then he’d wipe Felix’s tears away. 

But that isn’t what happens, because Glenn isn’t here. Someone’s steps - Dimitri’s, surely - draw near and halt by his side. Dimitri sits down, putting one of his hands between them, offering it silently, and Felix feels utterly miserable.

What a pathetic sight he makes.

* * *

He goes back to Fhirdiad, and Dedue comes with him. He can’t say he feels safe without the presence of his father and stepmother, but it’s still the place where he grew up, and he can’t stand using Rodrigue’s goodwill like this any longer when his and Dedue’s wounds are mostly healed and the Kingdom capital needs their Prince back.

He doesn’t expect to meet his uncle as soon as he arrives at the castle, but he does: Rufus, now named his regent, shoots them a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

‘Ah, so you’ve finally come back.’ His eyes alternate between him and Dedue. ‘And who is this?’

‘He’s Dedue,’ Dimitri replies, trying to keep his eyes up even if he isn’t the same height as his uncle just yet. ‘My friend. And companion.’

Rufus scoffs. ‘I see. I didn’t know you were just as willing to take unnecessary risks as my brother, _Dimi.’_

The nickname sounds filled with venom from his mouth, and Dimitri shakes his head. ‘We’re leaving for our bedrooms, Uncle. Thank you so much for your service and care.’

He bows, and Dedue imitates the motion, following him when Dimitri rushes to make his way around Rufus. The new regent watches them go, grey eyes fixated on the two boys until they disappear at the turn of a corner. 

Dimitri shudders, feeling like, suddenly, his castle has become a nest of vipers.

* * *

‘Do you know what soulmates are?’

Dedue looks up from the book he’s taking notes from, shaking his head. ‘...No. I don’t think I’ve seen that word before. What does it mean?’

Dimitri smiles, fidgeting with the silver ring. ‘It’s… like two people that have been born for each other. Their souls have been united since the moment they were born.’ 

‘Oh.’ Dedue’s eyebrows arch up, and he puts down the book. ‘So that is how it’s called here.’ 

Dimitri nods energetically. ‘I don’t know how it works in Duscur legend, but it’s a very rare thing here. Not many people have soulmates.’ His smile turns a little giddy, and his cheeks flush before he can even speak. ‘I… Well, I have one.’

‘Felix?’

Dimitri gasps, surprised by the quick guess, although maybe he shouldn’t be. ‘Is it that obvious?’ Dedue shrugs and proceeds to write down the word. ‘Hey… How do soulmates work in Duscur?’

Like every time he’s asked about his country, Dedue looks away, like he’s terrified someone will hear him talking too much about some forbidden knowledge. ‘Mmh… you can see things the other people… the other person sees, and there is supposed to be… A moment of…’ Dedue crosses his arms, thinking about the proper words. ‘Big knowledge, when you meet the one person for you.’ 

‘Very similar to here then…’ Dimitri mutters, looking down at his silver ring. ‘Dedue, did you…’

The question dies before he can speak it into existence. It feels cruel to ask such a thing.

Dedue, however, answers. ‘I don't think so. But I’m not sure. If we are meant to meet, we will.’

‘That… is a good way to look at it,’ Dimitri concedes. ‘I… have always known Felix, since we were babies. I suppose that’s not the norm.’

‘Is that what the ring is for?’

Dimitri flushes. ‘Yes. My father… he had these done for us when we were children. They’re called promise rings. We’ve always been together, since we were born.’

‘It must have been a happy childhood.’

‘It was.’

* * *

The sound of weapons clashing, be it wooden or steel, is what Dimitri would describe as the backdrop noise of his childhood. It’s always been relaxing to spar, to let out some steam and anxiety physically to be better able to focus on whatever is bothering him at the moment. And too many things have been bothering him this time: His uncle ruining everything his father had built in years of reign, his nightmares, Dedue’s sleeping habits, and his life in the court, for example. Not to even mention his studies, or his revenge.

Sparring gets his mind off it. It prepares him for battle, too. He will soon be fifteen years old, the age at which a person is considered an adult military-wise. The minimum age to be knighted - a record only achieved by Glenn in the last few centuries, if one were skeptic of the ancient writings. 

His heart still stings when he remembers Glenn, his wide smile as they were headed to Duscur. He had been so enthusiastic about the trip, although he hadn’t explained the reason why to anyone. Dimitri himself had seen his body, and yet nothing was there when they were recovering corpses. The thought had been stuck to his mind like a thorn, giving him hopes for something that was already lost.

He had seen Glenn’s corpse. Felix too, through Dimitri’s own eyes. And he had seen his ghost, hovering over him at night, face scorched with the flames of Ailell, begging Dimitri for revenge, for peace for his soul and countless others.

And they would have it.

A yelp takes him out of his thoughts, back into a much more serene scene: Felix has been bested in combat by Dedue, whose battle prowess keeps improving and surprising everyone that bothers looking. ‘Goddammit,’ Felix whines, grabbing his sword again, getting up and cleaning the dust off his breeches. ‘I didn’t expect that.’

The corner of Dedue’s mouth is so slightly lifted only an expert eye could see it. ‘Your footwork was impressive, Dedue,’Dimitri comments.

‘You’re faster than you look,’ Felix concedes sourly. Dimitri chuckles, covering his face with his fist, and maybe Felix’s cheeks light up a little at that. ‘But you won’t surprise me again. Get ready.’

Dedue nods. This time, his stance is defensive, deflecting Felix’s quick attacks. This time, Dimitri’s eyes follow the battle attentively, and his lips curl into a smile when Felix advances to strike Dedue with his wooden sword. Dedue defends skillfully, counterattacking just slowly enough for Felix to block him. The drag of Felix’s foot on the sand of the training grounds raises a little poof of dust and Dimitri sighs. 

This time, he manages to make Dedue stumble back, and strikes his side with his sword. A bead of sweat is running down Felix’s temple, and it makes Dimitri feel something in his chest.

What feeling this could be, he doesn’t know, but he wishes he could stare at Felix and his sparring techniques for hours. His footwork, his agility, the glisten in his eyes when he finds a weak spot on his opponent, the ragged breaths, the way his hair moves with every movement. Felix’s hair is so long and soft to the touch, Dimitri wishes he could run his fingers through it-

‘I think His Highness would like to spar as well,’ he hears Dedue say, and the way he’s looking at him - like he knows something Dimitri doesn’t - doesn’t escape the Prince. ‘So I’ll take a break.’

‘I want my rematch, though,’ Felix groans, wiping some sweat off his forehead. ‘C’mon, Mitya.’

‘Right.’ He scrambles to get up, and shuffles through a bunch of steel swords until Felix coughs. ‘Yes?’

‘Mitya, we’re sparring with practice swords.’

Right. He was looking at it one second ago. The wooden sword in Felix’s hand. Dimitri shakes his head. ‘Ah, sorry, I was… distracted.’

‘I can see that.’ Felix puts one hand on his hip, cocking his head to the side. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Nothing, really. I was just lost in thought.’ He can still feel Dedue’s stare on the back of his neck. He will have to ask later if _he_ is noticing something wrong with him. Maybe he does understand this feeling. He gets a wooden sword and twists it on his hand before taking a fighting stance. ‘Prepare yourself.’

Felix nods, mirroring Dimitri’s stance, and takes one step forward.

More than once, Dimitri and Felix have been told their sparring sessions look more like a dance than a spar, which is amusing, considering neither of them are remarkable dancers. But he can agree that sparring with Felix feels like a planned spectacle: They circle around each other and clash, never losing sight of the other. If Dimitri had to explain it, it’d be like being united by an invisible string that connects them.

Felix's promise ring shines under the bare sunlight that reaches the training grounds of the Fraldarius manor before their weapons clash again, locked in place. Their gazes meet, and there is a familiar tension in the air, the feeling that no one but them exists in this world, that time doesn't pass quite so quickly.

But the tension cracks and breaks when Dimitri backs down, preparing another attack, and Felix decides to go on the offensive as well. He is agile and absurdly fast, but Dimitri knows him, and knows that this technique leaves him too open. 

He needs a few more swings of his sword, but manages to make Felix fall on his butt, winning himself the sparring session. 'I win this one.'

'Yes, yes,’ Felix groans, brushing his hair out of his eyes, ‘whatever.' 

Dimitri chuckles. Felix could be such a sore loser. 'Let me help you,' he offers, giving Felix a hand. He doesn't need it, per se, but he likes holding hands with him. Besides, this time he isn't wearing gloves, so when he does take Dimitri's hand, he can see the soulmark in the shape of the Crest of Blaiddyd on the back of his hand.

Would it be too much if he kissed it? Would it be interpreted as courting? They are already betrothed, so there is no reason why he shouldn't do it, but the thought alone makes his cheeks burn. Felix's face is reddened as well, and Dimitri wonders if it's an effect of their tireless training or something else. 

He pushes a strand of hair that escaped from Felix's bun behind his ear, and he notices even the tips are flushing.

'S-So,' Dimitri mutters, and it takes a massive effort to look away from Felix's eyes. 'Maybe a… break is in order.'

'Maybe,' Felix concedes. 'I'll, uh, tell my nana to… Prepare us some tea or something. Chamomile?'

'Chamomile.' Dimitri nods, feeling his uneven heartbeats finally subside. He lets go of Felix's hand, and Felix walks up to Dedue, who has been examining the steel weapons all this time.

Oh, Goddess, they probably make him feel uncomfortable.

'What tea do you want?' Felix asks.

Dedue thinks for a moment. 'Cinnamon.'

Felix nods and disappears through the door, and Dimitri's eyes stare into the void left after him. He already misses the weight of Felix's hand in his.

Dedue coughs, startling Dimitri. 'Your Highness.'

'W-What is it, Dedue?'

Dedue hesitates, trying to find the correct words, but he finally shakes his head and sighs. 'It's not important.'

'If you say so.' Dimitri's expression falls. 'While we wait, would you like another spar?'

'Of course.'

* * *

As much as Felix and Dimitri have both dreamed of a day like this, it still feels strange to hold an actual weapon in his hand and to be surrounded by actual soldiers, setting up an actual camp. So they stay close to the familiarity of each other and revise whatever needs revising together. 

It’s relieving too, in a way, because Dimitri is finally out of that damned castle filled with vipers, his uncle the biggest of them all. And so his spirits are up, his natural smile is back, and it’s almost as sweet and soothing as usual. If only the regent wasn’t there and the King was still here so many things would be different in the Kingdom. 

Or they could allow Dimitri to step up as king, tradition be damned. King Regent Rufus wasn’t born and raise for kinghood, like Dimitri was. Like Felix was born to be by his side. The mark on the back of his sword hand says so, as does the ring on the silver finger of his left hand, a match to Dimitri’s. The symbol of their bond.

‘That should be everything for today,’ Dimitri says, letting out a tired sigh. ‘Tomorrow we should arrive at the spot of the rebellion, and…’

‘And fight, and win,’ Felix assures, putting away the whetstone he had been using to take care of his sword. The first sword he was going to use to fight real people of flesh and bone, instead of the straw dummies in the training ground. It feels heavier than a silver sword should.

‘I hope so.’ Dimitri sits down by his side inside their tent, and his blue eyes stare at Felix with an intensity that makes him blush despite himself.

‘W-What is it? Stop looking at me like that.’

‘Oh, right, my- my apologies.’ Dimitri looks away, and Felix places a strand of hair behind his ear. The blush still isn’t going away, though. ‘I was just…’

‘Just?’ Felix glances at him sideways, and finds Dimitri’s face is also beet red as he tries to find the words he wants.

‘I just… I’m nervous about tomorrow. That is all.’

It obviously isn’t it all, because Felix knows Dimitri perfectly and there is something he’s holding back. Something that is going to be embarrassing for both of them. ‘Goddess, just spit it out.’

‘Alright.’ Dimitri nods, taking in some air. ‘I know it might be inappropriate, but, if you’ll allow it, may I kiss you?’

If it weren’t an absurd idea, Felix would swear something bursts in his brain when he processes what Dimitri said. A kiss, between them. His heart thrashes against his ribcage like a wild animal, and he finds himself completely speechless.‘We don’t have to, of course,’ Dimitri clarifies immediately. ‘I just… thought…’

‘I- I mean…’

‘And I apologize, perhaps it’s too early, because-’

‘Dimitri!’ He groans, and Dimitri finally stops rambling. ‘I… wouldn’t mind trying it out.’ 

_Not if it’s with him_ , he thinks.

He has never seen Dimitri this damn flushed in his whole life, which makes him wonder just what he himself must look like. Ridiculous, stupid, and childish, probably. It’s just a kiss. And they’re engaged and best friends, so what does it matter? Nobody has to know.

‘So. Whatever, yes. Just don’t tell anyone.’

Dimitri smiles and, rather comically, deflates in relief. ‘Good… Ah, I’m so glad. So, now…’

Felix holds his breath, reaching for Dimitri’s hands to pull him closer, trying to think of the few kisses he has witnessed in his life. He once saw Glenn kissing a boy, but looked away in embarrassment. He never saw his father kissing anyone because mother had died too soon for Felix to remember her. And Dimitri probably doesn’t know much about kissing either. This has to turn out to be a disaster.

Dimitri’s mouth touches his briefly, both their lips stiff, and their first kiss makes for an awkward memory that they both will have to carry to the tomb.

Goddammit. ‘I think… we have to open our mouths?’

‘What?’

‘I… don’t know, but I think we have to do that.’

Felix decides that it’s worth trying, and his hands cup Dimitri’s face, pushing himself into his personal space until they’re so close he can hear the Prince’s breath clearly over the rushed pulse of his own heart. Felix tilts his head, hesitating a little more before he finally decides to stick their mouths together.

It feels more like the kisses from the stories Sylvain and Glenn tell him about, but it still isn’t quite like it. ‘That was better,’ Dimitri comments, smiling. ‘I liked it.’

‘If you say so… I think it was horrible,’ Felix grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘Let’s just go to sleep already.’

Dimitri laughs, covering his mouth with his hand, and it sounds as clear as the night sky over them. ‘Surely, tomorrow will be a long day… We need the rest.’

‘Glad to see that you get it,’ Felix says and turns around to let Dimitri change. After Dimitri is done, Felix himself changes clothes, and they lie down in the middle of the tent. 

Dimitri snuggles up to Felix, covering them both with their blanket and sneaking a quick kiss on Felix’s mouth. ‘Good night, Felix.’

‘...Ugh,’ he groans, burying as much of his face as he can into the pillow. ‘Good night, Mitya.’

Before the light of their candle is snuffed out by Dimitri, Felix sees the prettiest, sweetest smile he’s ever seen.

* * *

Dimitri cackles into the dusty air of the battlefield, hands and face splattered with blood, smile twisted into a grimace Felix doesn’t recognize. The silver sword hurts in his hand, or perhaps it’s the mark that adorns it burning his flesh. Either way, Dimitri’s eyes are open wide, pupils dilated to the point his eyes don’t look sky blue anymore. He buries his silver lance into the flesh again, opening his victim up before going on to the next soldier, and he laughs again, delighted at the sound of bones breaking, voices screaming, and flesh tearing and burning.

He stabs a body again, and the enemy soldiers run past Felix in horror, until there is nobody left but them and the scattered victims of Dimitri’s mad carnage.

No, this isn’t Dimitri. This is a savage animal that has escaped from the depths of Ailell, a feral boar, a mindless beast. 

The beast locates him and kicks away a corpse, smiling in that way that almost looks like Mitya’s, a horrible mimicry of the boy that had kissed Felix yesterday. Was that even his Dimitri? When did he get replaced by this beast with a human face? Why didn’t Felix notice?

‘Felix,’ the beast calls his name, walking towards him, and Felix stumbles and falls to the mud, dropping his sword. The beast squats down close to him, reaching for the silver sword. ‘Let me help-’

Felix kicks him away, some blood dripping down the thing’s mouth, maybe his own, and it freezes on the spot, confused.

‘Get the fuck away from me,’ Felix musters, managing to grab his sword back and get up. ‘One step closer, and I’ll kill you.’

The beast looks up, and it can almost imitate Mitya’s confused face properly. But Felix won’t be fooled, not again. ‘...Felix?’

‘And don’t say my name,’ Felix mutters, shaking. ‘Ever again.’

* * *

Sylvain wakes up to the irritating sound of a woman’s giggle. It makes his stomach twist, the way she’s shaking him awake and giggling his name between her teeth, but he musters a tired smile. ‘Ah, sorry… I was having the sweetest dreams. About you, in fact.’

‘Awh, Sylv!’ Don’t call me that, he thinks. That nickname wasn’t for her, but for the people he cares about. Well, it matters little, because she’ll be leaving soon and Sylvain has no intention to see her ever again. ‘But for real, honey, wake up! Something weird happened.’

‘Weird?’ He yawns, turning around. ‘How weird?’

‘Something appeared on your neck… A mark of sorts.’ Her finger traces something behind his neck and he slaps it away, getting a complaint from her. ‘I’m serious! Look, let’s get you a mirror…’

He sighs tiredly but complies with whatever stupid thing she’s made up to just not _leave_ already. He puts on his pants and watches her stumble around the room - disorganizing it completely, much to Sylvain’s anxiety - until she finally finds a hand mirror. Sylvain stands in front of his usual one, and she walks behind him with the small object in her hands, holding it up and facing the tall mirror.

Much to his surprise, she is right: There is a mark on the back of his neck. A circle with a line that follows Sylvain’s spine, and then opens into two curved lines. It looks familiar, perhaps like a Crest, but Sylvain doesn’t remember seeing it anywhere. ‘Huh.’

‘What is it? Do you know?’

‘I… Well,’ he smiles, turning to her with his most charming smile. ‘Maybe I’m cursed. Is this your doing, oh my beautiful lady?’

She giggles again. It’s like hearing someone scratch a blackboard. ‘Of course not! I could never!’

‘Thank you, sweetheart, I knew I could count on you! Oh, by the way…’ He feigns surprise, raising his hands. ‘I think you should leave soon.’

Sylvain knows he will end up growing used to that disappointed face everyone makes when he dismisses them, but, for now, it still makes him feel a little guilty. It’s not like it’s his fault that he wants to have some fun and people never get his intentions right. 

‘But…’

‘For real, I think you should go.’

‘We’ll be seeing each other, right?’

‘Sure,’ he answers, and even she notices this reply is as fake as it gets. But he has more important things to worry about now, like that mark that showed up on his neck. ‘It’s been fun.’

She nods, and Sylvain lazily watches her collect her clothes, put them back on, and go. She mutters something about his horrible manners, and maybe he could improve those, but he isn’t in the mood for that right now. There are a lot of thoughts on his mind right now.

He gets dressed, fixes his messy hair, considers cutting that annoying ponytail off for the eleventh time this week, and makes a beeline to the manor’s library. This is House Gautier, so there are millions of books on Crestology he can look up, and he isn’t hungry enough for breakfast just yet. Until his dear sir father calls, he won’t be forced to see his brother’s face again.

He has seen this before, of course he has. Felix and Dimitri had these odd marks with each other’s Crests on them. Soulmating. His heart beats faster the more he thinks about it. Dimitri and Felix are always clinging to each other, always so obviously made for each other, so that means there is someone out there that might be the same for him. Someone that feels just right, someone he’s destined for. Someone that doesn’t feel like the woman that just left his bedroom.

After a brief search, he selects a book on the history and classification of Crests and browses through his pages. A couple of scans are enough for him to find something interesting.

Lost Crests. The Crests that belonged to the apostles that almost nobody talks about, but what place could possibly have this sort of information but Gautier, that one region in the north no one ever talks about except when the need to protect Fódlan comes. Or when they talk about fantastic marriage options for young Faerghan ladies.

He traces the Aubin Crest with his finger, especially the line that now descends down the back of his neck. It’s inverted on his body, but does that mean anything? The only soulmated people he knows are Felix and Dimitri, and their marks are normal. The old legends are vague enough as it is. Hell, this book barely has any information beyond the fact that it belonged to the apostle Aubin and it wasn’t passed down as most Crests were.

Sylvain sighs, closing the book and putting it back where it belongs. He still stares at its spine for a while, as if that way he could _convince_ the book to give him more information. As expected, nothing happens, and Sylvain looks at the floor, putting his hands on his hips. He just has to wait-

(It’s as if his soul is being pulled out of his body violently, torn apart by the friction of an unknown force. Like the most realistic dream, he is thrown into a misty morning in the middle of a Faerghan town, into a body that is lighter and smaller than his. He is running, as fast as the wind, and keeps running despite the pain that stings this body’s feet and joints. 

The dream vanishes.)

Sylvain’s knees - his own this time - give in, and he sits on the floor, feeling a single droplet of sweat trickle down his neck.

* * *

The mark had appeared on the left side of his ribs and right under his chest around seven months ago. Yuri would describe it as a circle, surrounded by a larger, unfinished circle, with some spikes standing out. He doesn’t like it - it is in a very exposed place, and it’s not pretty. He can’t disguise it as a birthmark, intricate as this thing is. 

So he just covers it up, be it with clothes or make-up. It’s not like anyone has any right to his body now that he is, officially, the son of a noble. Yuri Rowe, his new self, the boy that is supposed to leave all his life in the streets of Faerghus behind and learn the ways of the small Faerghan nobility. 

As if. 

His hand grabs the comb, and he grooms his hair absentmindedly. Perhaps he should cut it to give himself a more masculine appearance, but, truth is, he is fond of his hair, the same color as his mother’s. The mere memory of her, now alone in the slums, hurts his heart, but she will be safe. Yuri wouldn’t leave at all if she wasn’t going to be safe and sound.

He pulls his hair into a low ponytail and smiles into the mirror, practicing the expression he will offer the count this morning. It almost looks genuine.

A knock on the door, and the familiar voice of the maid he has been assigned. ‘Lord Yuri! Breakfast is ready. Lord Rowe is waiting in the dining hall.’

‘Understood. I’ll join him in a moment,’ his eyeshadow isn’t properly applied yet, after all. ‘Thank you.’

She leaves without another word, and Yuri opens a drawer where most of his makeup should be. 

(He hears a woman’s voice, sees the outside of a Faerghan road he knows, but somehow doesn’t. 

‘You can’t just make everything about girls,’ the woman’s voice says. ‘Are you listening to me?’)

When Yuri goes back, his hand is hovering over a purple shade and his heart thrashes in his chest. A bead of sweat trails down his temple, and he wipes it quickly. 

The moment the mark appeared, it had brought with it secondary effects. At first, Yuri thought these odd visions were the result of exhaustion and stress or some sort of dark magic. But now he is here, well-fed and kept from the cold and the rain, and yet the visions have only been enhanced. 

He sighs, grabbing the purple shadow. He’s going to be late for breakfast.

* * *

The dining hall is as cold as ever. Count Rowe eats at one end of the table, and, two seats away, his daughter. The one Yuri is supposed to consider his sister doesn’t even look up to welcome him, and neither does her father, which is fine by Yuri. He sits on the opposite seat to hers and prepares himself to enjoy his breakfast in silence.

They receive a surprising visit in the evening. A carriage with red banners Yuri can’t even see properly, and a man and a woman around his own age hop off it. Noble kids, no doubt, and also something that doesn’t concern him; Rowe hasn’t called him to receive them. 

When Yuri walks out of his room, he hears the whispering of several servants as he walks by them. The words “Gautier” and “Galatea” and “kill” are said often, and Yuri wonders just what this is about.

‘Sylvain José Gautier visited the Rowe castle seven months ago, young lord,’ one old maid explains to him with a crooked smile. ‘He’s known for being irresistible to the ladies all over Faerghus, especially Eastern Faerghus. That time, he tried to seduce the young lady,’ the woman cackles, ‘and Lord Rowe didn’t like it one bit.’

‘I see. So a classic philanderer.’

‘Indeed.’

Not worth his time, then. 

With a book in hand, he makes his way to the gardens behind the humble Rowe castle. They’re nothing special compared to the Adrestian garden he helped care for, now so long ago, but it’s a peaceful place nonetheless, and that’s all Yuri needs to read some passages of a novel.

By the time he closes the book, the sun is setting over the horizon, so it would be smart to go back inside and find an empty parlor. Still, he finds himself admiring the sunset, melancholic as it is. His mother would sing him to sleep at sunset, leave him alone in the dark immensity of their home, and come back with sunrise. 

During those sunsets, she would sing to him all the lullabies she had collected through her life, and Yuri had memorized each one of them. Book in hand, Yuri finds himself humming them, and, eventually, forming the words and turning the hum into an actual song.

‘Oh? So there _was_ someone here,’ a voice says, and there’s a strange familiarity about it, even if Yuri is sure he’s never heard it before. As he shoves the book in the inner pocket of his jacket, he hears steps near the spot he’s seated. His first instinct is to get his knife, just in case. There shouldn’t be any danger within these walls - but that doesn’t mean Yuri shouldn’t be careful if he can afford it. ‘And they sing like a mockingbird.’

When Yuri turns around, the very last rays of sunlight show him a young man slightly taller than him, with fiery red hair and brown eyes that looks as surprised as Yuri is. The sun stops falling for a moment, letting him take a proper look at the man, and time resumes with the first sigh that comes out of Yuri’s lips.

It feels like having a dislocated bone put back in its place. It’s terrifying.

The boy notices the knife on his hand, but before he can even retreat, Yuri does. ‘Who are you?’

‘Sylvain,’ he murmurs, and Yuri can’t discern if he is mesmerized or simply scared out of his mind. ‘José Gautier.’

The philanderer the maid told him about. Someone he can’t trust. Is this noble brat versed in some sort of magic? Does he have a spell around him that puts people at ease? Does it have anything to do with the visions he has been having? It could be the case, and Yuri doesn’t have the magic knowledge just yet to be able to break the spell.

‘Hey, wait!’ The redhead advances two steps as Yuri walks away. ‘Who are you?’

‘It’s none of your business.’

‘I just told you my name,’ he replies, clearly offended by Yuri’s refusal. The effect of whatever spell he’s using is wearing off, as is the sunlight. ‘Please. I need to know.’

Yuri squints. ‘For what reason?’

‘Because I’ve been looking for you.’ Yuri isn’t a romantic sort of person, and yet those words do inexplicable things to his heart. ‘You’re my-’

‘Sylvain?!’ A girl’s voice interrupts his sentence, and Yuri conceals his knife for now. The girl in question is the same Yuri saw getting off the carriage with him earlier. ‘I’ve been looking for you for an hour! We have to go!’

Sylvain’s hand opens as if trying to reach for Yuri, but closes into a fist before he can even try.

‘I’ll be back,’ he says, although there is no threat in it: Just desperation, exhaustion, and hope. ‘Please, wait until I do.’

But Yuri would never wait for anyone.

A few months later, when Count Rowe requests that he attend the Officer’s Academy, Yuri remembers Sylvain José Gautier and the words he told him and sunset. He doesn’t choose him.

* * *

The nights when Dimitri can’t sleep aren’t rare. In fact, they’ve become the norm now, and he considers it a blessing to be able to sleep more than five hours in one night. This time isn’t any exception: Even Dedue has given in to sleep, sheltered from the sun by the curtains that cover the windows of this carriage and the light sounds of a new dawn. Dimitri, however, is as awake as anyone can be, despite the ache in his eyes and his head.

Dedue would probably scold him for not even making an effort at napping, but Dedue isn’t looking right now, and it would be useless anyway. At this point, Dimitri can recognize when his thoughts just won’t let him sleep.

Garreg Mach is the last secure step within his plans. The last milestone before he can take his Kingdom back from his uncle’s filthy hands. The last obligation before he can kick off his vengeance for good and have justice, finally putting his ghosts to rest in peace. Even now, their presence crawls around him, whispering. Father. Glenn. Stepmother. All the valiant knights that fell protecting him, so he could live on.

“I will,” he thinks, hunched over himself, letting their weight push him down. This is his burden to carry, as a survivor, the only person who can do something to avenge them. “I will make things right to all of you.”

He will train, he will become as strong and knowledgeable as possible, and he will find those disgraceful animals and kill them until their bones turn into ash and their blood soaks the soil, even if it’s the last thing he does.

If he dies or lives, it matters little, because he will be at peace nonetheless.

Dimitri peeks between the curtains, feeling the blood rushing in his veins like an unleashed river when he spots Garreg Mach in the distance, encased in the mountains that make it a fortress on top of the religious nucleus of all Fódlan. Dimitri also hopes its library holds at least some of the answers he seeks.

And if things go as planned, he will also see Felix. The thought of his light brown eyes filled with fury and hatred, burning with the fire of their first battlefield, is a sight he will carry in his memory forever. Another evidence of the monster he can become - the monster he might already be. But if he can see him again, even from afar, if he can stroke his silky blue hair and see his eyes again, then… 

He can be content with that. It’d be unfair and pretentious to expect Felix’s love, if it could be called that, to still be reciprocated.

Dedue grunts and Dimitri turns to him, managing a calm smile even if nothing else in him is calm. His hands twitch and his heart thrashes against his ribs, but as long as he can keep up the illusion, it will be fine. ‘Have you slept well, Dedue?’

Dedue yawns, covering his mouth with his hand, and massages the back of his neck. ‘...Well enough.’ It takes him only a couple seconds to frown and sigh. ‘Haven’t you, Your Highness?’

Dimitri smiles sheepishly. ‘I haven’t been able to. I’ve tried, I swear, but I couldn’t.’

Dedue hums, rubbing his eyes. ‘You should rest.’

‘I know, I know… But, more importantly, Dedue,’ he opens the curtains, letting the sunlight in. ‘Look! It shouldn’t take long until we arrive.’

‘Are you ready, Your Highness?’

Somehow, Dedue’s words catch him off guard, and Dimitri’s breath falters.

His words don’t. ‘I am.’


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 of my dmfx bb is here!! Content warnings for Sylvain's bad coping mechanisms, (slightly irresponsible) binding, conversation with ableist tones, and an assault scene. It doesn't go too far, but if you want to prepare or skip it entirely, it starts at "as he walks out of the inn, minutes later, someone follows him" and ends at "the captain huffs and leaves".

This isn’t good. 

Being in the Officer’s Academy with that thing is already bad. Being in the Officer’s Academy, in a room adjacent to that thing’s room, with Sylvain only one room away is horrible. It’s the worst thing that could happen to him. He can’t think of anything he’d hate more than be wall to wall with the boar, and unwillingly listen to Sylvain’s affairs on top of that.

And yet, he can’t change it. ‘I’m sorry, but I see no problem in your bedroom assignment,’ this man with green hair says. He doesn’t remember his name, but he’s some Church big fish or something. Did he even tell him his name? ‘If your neighbors cause trouble, and you can’t sort it out by yourself, you can always complain to us, of course.’

‘...Alright. Whatever,’ he groans with as much bitterness in his voice as he can, and walks the way back to his room with his hands wrapped into fists. There must be a way to avoid this, but he’s too tired from the trip here to give it any more thought. 

As he makes his way to the student bedrooms, he looks around the monastery. It looks like his old man described it: A calm place on the top of a mountain, a soft breeze, and a sun that doesn’t burn the skin. Buildings that look as old as Saint Seiros herself and a cathedral that would be fascinating if only Felix were more interested in art. Sylvain must be having the time of his life with that if he isn’t too busy flirting with every girl he sees.

But there are a couple of places that are interesting enough to catch his attention. One of them is the knight’s hall, which, yes, is full of knights, but is also a place full of strong people and good practice equipment. The other interesting place is the training grounds, which are pretty much the same as the knight’s hall, but bigger and without books. 

And that’s where he goes. Luckily, he’ll get to grab a sword and fight someone that will take some energy to defeat. This is where the Church of Seiros trains its better soldiers, so there  _ has  _ to be someone he can fight properly. Someone different to the knights of Fraldarius Felix has fought so many times.

He makes his way inside the training grounds and witnesses two people sparring, with a third one observing. Outside of the battleground, some more people watch, interested. A tournament? It looks like it. Now  _ that  _ is exciting.

Both of the knights have pretty decent footwork, dancing around each other with both agility and conviction, and their grip on their swords is firm. These are skilled individuals, for sure, but Felix notices a thirst for battle in the style of one of them. He’s a blonde, tall man with his hair tied in a ponytail and a strange mask on his face, but that isn’t what gets Felix’s attention.

That barely restrained thirst, that’s what matters.

In accordance with his prediction, the blonde man wins within two minutes of Felix’s arrival, and the third person announces him as the winner of today’s sword tournament. 

‘Congratulations, Jeritza.’ The man that name refers to looks bored out of his mind, without a glimpse of glee in what is visible of his face. ‘Here’s the gold and the refined silver sword.’

The man hums, the hunger Felix had spotted before completely gone. But this isn’t going to just end with this fantastic training partner going away, no. Felix makes his way to the entrance and stands between the outside and this Jeritza man. ‘Spar with me.’

The man looks down at him under the darkness of his mask, and his purple eyes glisten with that same furious feeling that Felix spotted before, and then he speaks. ‘The tournament… It ended already.’

‘I don’t care,’ Felix snaps back at him. ‘Spar with me.’

‘I’m tired.’

‘Surely you can stand one more fight.’

The man huffs and keeps walking, careful to not push Felix on his way. And Felix has never felt so damn insulted in his life. ‘Hey!’

‘I am going… to eat sweets,’ the man says, walking away seemingly unbothered by anything Felix has said. Well, to be fair, this man doesn’t know him. He hasn’t seen him wielding his sword just yet. When he does, Felix trusts he’ll want to fight him.

On his way back to his room, he passes by Dimitri’s, and hears his father’s voice from the inside. 

‘I hope he will be fine, as well. He worries me…’

Felix could enter the bedroom and remind his father that the one he should worry about is Dimitri, because he’s a danger to everyone around him, and Felix has just been trying to warn everyone. But it would be useless: The old man would give him that sad, heavy look, and tell him to stop in a grave voice.

So it is pointless. After two years of trying to warn everyone, Felix knows it’s pointless, and that all he can do is hope the boar doesn’t drag anyone else down with him.

* * *

‘Dimitri?’

Rodrigue’s voice snaps him back into the real world. ‘Yes.’ He smiles. The door to the adjacent room closes with a slam. ‘I apologize, I was distracted.’

‘That’s alright.’ Rodrigue shakes his head. ‘As I was saying, I’ll have to leave for Fraldarius tomorrow. Remember to contact me if any problem arises.’

‘Yes.’ Dimitri sighs, forcing a smile for the Duke. ‘Thank you for your help, Rodrigue.’

‘It’s the least I could do.’ He looks around the bedroom: Organized, with not many personal belongings, and Dimitri feels a little embarrassed about it. 

'You can leave if you wish to do so, Rodrigue,' Dimitri murmurs sheepishly. 'I bet you'd like to take a stroll around the Academy.'

'You're not wrong. This place is full of fond memories for me.' Rodrigue's smiles have never been the widest, or the most expressive, but Dimitri can't get used to how sad this one is when he looks out of the window. 'Every corner… it reminds me of my time here, with His Majesty and the Margrave. But I won't bore you with such things.' Dimitri wants to tell him that he isn't a bore. Stories of his father could never be a bore, as much as they might hurt. But he finds himself too tired to even speak up, watching Rodrigue walk across the room to reach its door. 'I'll see you later, Your Highness.'

'See you later, Rodrigue.'

As soon as the door closes, Dimitri flops on his bed. Dedue must be preparing his own bedroom now. Felix must have seen the training grounds already, and now is in the room next to him.

So close, but with a whole stone wall between them. Unsalvageable. 

Dimitri curls up on the bed, facing the wall. Nobody will require his presence just yet: This is the last moment of true peace he will allow himself before he becomes house leader. Before his vengeance begins properly.

As he falls asleep, he sees the flames consuming Glenn's flesh again.

* * *

‘I’m Manuela Casagranda, and I will be the Blue Lions’ Professor this year.’

Felix has to admit that, at first sight, he isn’t impressed by her. There is some reaction from Sylvain, which doesn’t mean much because he might as well know every woman between seventeen and forty-five in Faerghus at this point. 

‘I’m a physician,’ she continues, voice filled with pride, ‘and a songstress. Now that I’ve presented myself, why don’t you tell me about yourselves?’

There are a couple of awkward looks between the students, especially aimed at the boar, who gets up and smiles. Felix feels the need to punch that grin off his face - it’s sickening, really, how easy it comes to him to lie to all these people, how shamelessly he does so in front of Felix. 

‘I’m Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, son of Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd, heir to the Faerghus throne,’ he makes a small bow, one arm in front and the other on his back, ‘and I’ll do my best to be the leader the Blue Lions deserve.’

It would be almost charming if Felix didn’t know better.

The next one to stand is Dedue, and the presentation is as barebones as Felix would expect from him. ‘I’m Dedue Molinaro. I protect His Highness.’

Felix huffs, crossing his arms and straightening his back. The silver ring feels cold against his chest, and a young woman named Mercedes is next. Felix tries to keep track of the other’s names (Annette? Ash?), pays some sort of attention to Ingrid and Sylvain, and, ultimately, there’s only him left.

The polite thing is to stand up, so he begrudgingly does that, resting his gloved hand on the table. There are only a handful of complete strangers in this room, and yet he feels nervous. ‘Felix Hugo Fraldarius. I’ve come here to become stronger. That’s all.’

He notices the Annette girl opening her eyes in surprise, and then sits down again. 

Professor Manuela smiles, content. ‘And now, let’s go over our plans for this year, yes?’

* * *

After two days of classes, Dimitri can’t say if he will get used to it yet, but the experience hasn’t been as stressful as his most anxious thoughts anticipated. Most of his classmates are kind and well-meaning individuals he can see himself getting along with, and, most importantly, none of them seem to have a problem with Dedue’s presence. In fact, he believes to have spotted Dedue and Mercedes talking more than once.

As expected, he meets Edelgard again, and she reacts rather coldly to their reunion. No, cold isn’t the most accurate word: she acts like it’s the first time they’ve met, as heirs to Adrestia and Faerghus respectively, and nothing else. 

It hurts, to have his own stepsister act like this, but he won’t hold it against her. El’s presence in Faerghus had been a secret, and perhaps she wants it to remain that way. A sudden bond between two house leaders, apparently out of nowhere, would surely raise some eyebrows. And he’d hate to inconvenience her, no matter how much he wants to rekindle their relationship. 

That’s why it surprises him when Manuela tells him about a training session between the house leaders, suggested by the Imperial Princess herself. They are accompanied by the Black Eagles tutor, a small handful of soldiers, and nobody else - a strange move barely justified by the relative proximity of the chosen spot to the monastery. Still, Dimitri has to work hard to convince Dedue to just stay behind and wait.

In the late evening, they make their way to the planned spot. It will take a whole day to get there, and, while Dimitri has set camp before, it doesn’t look like the other two have, so he lends a hand where needed. Claude himself is constantly looking at the map, and, at first, Dimitri thinks he’s just checking their route over and over.

As they prepare their daily drills together, Claude shows the map to a soldier.

‘Could you tell me what this location is?’

The soldier takes a quick look at the map before answering. ‘That would be the Sealed Forest.’

‘Why is it called that?’ Claude asks, sporting one of those odd smiles Dimitri has seen from him several times before. 

‘We don’t really know,’ the soldiers reply, much to the young man’s disappointment. ‘But nobody is allowed in there.’

‘Is that so?’ Edelgard asks.

‘I suppose it’s some sort of sacred place, then,’ Claude continues, and Dimitri notices his smirk has widened. ‘But what do I know, hm? Let’s get to the drills.’

Dimitri nods. ‘Of cour-’

(It’s a familiar feeling by this point, being pushed out of his body and taking Felix’s skin instead. There’s the sword in his hand, the training grounds, the oppressive feeling in his chest.)

When he comes back, Claude’s eyes are fixated on him, but he doesn’t say anything.

* * *

Well, a sudden change in professors isn’t what Felix had expected to happen three days into their classes.

He had seen a glimpse of it - had dropped his practice sword, in fact, when he saw Dimitri and the other house leaders running away gripping their weapons. He didn’t know what exactly happened next, but Sylvain noticed his distress, and that had gotten the Knights of Seiros there just in time to shoo away the bandits. On their way, they also brought with them a brand new Knight captain and professor.

Odd. But he won’t question the Archbishop’s decision making, as long as the professor is worth going through all the trouble of reassigning teachers for their classes. Felix appraises them from afar at first: They look like any young mercenary Felix could've imagined, but there is something unsettling about their eyes.

They rarely blink, and their stare is piercing. Their name is Byleth Eisner, and Dimitri had seemed immediately interested in them, Sothis knows why.

Not that Felix cares about what the boar thinks. All he needs from this professor is that they're the strongest and can pass down their strength to him.

* * *

News from the outside world usually doesn’t matter in Abyss. A last-minute change in the staff of the Officer’s Academy would’ve been less than a passing thought for Yuri and everyone else if it weren’t for the circumstances in which this particular person had been recruited. A mercenary whose father used to be the captain of the Knights of Seiros - and has now regained said position. The person in question is named Byleth, a new professor for the Blue Lions, and has no previous experience in teaching. Sothis knows what could be going on in the Archbishop’s head, hiring someone out of nowhere during an academic year like this.

Edelgard von Hresvelg, future Emperor of Adrestia. Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, future King of Faerghus. Claude von Riegan, future Duke of the most powerful house in the Alliance.

And there’s also that man. The presence that has been haunting him since their meeting back when he was under Count Rowe’s custody. Now he walks the roads over Yuri’s head, closer than he has ever been since the moment they met. Sylvain José Gautier.

The secret library under Garreg Mach is filled to the brim with interesting information, more often than not the sort of knowledge hidden from the general public. There, Yuri has been able to confirm what he had already suspected when he did some research into the strange events happening to him.

Soulmates. People that, at some point in their lives, are linked together by the Goddess, people that can switch bodies and even feel each other’s presence in this world. A pretty fairytale his mother would’ve told him before sleep, no doubt, but still just a fairytale, nonetheless. There’s no doubt someone has managed to replicate the legend with some sort of spell, and this is the result. He’s been meaning to ask Constance about it, but it never seems to be the right time.

He lifts his gaze from his notebook and closes it, straightening his back. Hapi sits in front of him, fidgeting with a pebble and looking as uninterested as ever. He takes in the stale air of the Abyss and breathes it out, considering that conversation with Constance as his next course of action. 

‘Bored?’ Hapi asks.

‘Not really.’ Yuri shakes his head. ‘In fact, my head is full of thoughts. I think I need a stroll.’

Hapi hums, and Yuri gets up from his seat, walking out of the classroom. 

* * *

The first real battle is always the hardest, Dimitri had heard Gustave say once. By that, of course, he meant the first kill, the first few times when you are allowed to take a life away with your own hands, protected under the veil of legitimacy and justice. 

But even after the first kill, it doesn’t get easier for him. It reminds him of that which lurks inside, the stirring violence that sleeps under his lungs, ready to flare up again and consume him at any moment. That’s why, when the battle is done, he looks around, trying to focus on something that isn’t Kostas’ corpse, efficiently cut down by Felix’s sword. Mercedes is rubbing Annette’s back, and Ashe looks a little pale. The Professor scans the land around them, in search of any remaining bandits that could attack them.

It looks like any bandits that remain have fled, so Dimitri allows himself to relax. The Professor is looking at the canyon with a knowing stare, and Dimitri wonders if they’ve already been here.

But that’s impossible. This place is closed to anyone not affiliated with the Church.

‘Professor,’ he calls, and Byleth blinks, startled out of their reverie. ‘I think we should go back to the Monastery.’ They nod.

On their way back, he feels Felix’s intense stare on the back of his neck, even as Ashe talks with him.

‘But who would step into a sacred place, knowing that the Knights of Seiros would come after them?’ Ashe questions, voicing everyone’s thoughts out loud. It makes no sense that some pitiful thieves would do that.

‘Hell if I know,’ Felix groans.

Either they had a strong suicidal urge, or someone else had trapped them there to die. Maybe they should’ve kept the leader alive and taken him to the monastery for interrogation, but it’s too late for that now.

* * *

_ The writing was on the wall. _

That is the first thing he thinks when news of Lonato’s rebellion reaches Abyss. The man’s resentment has been building up ever since his son’s murder by the Church of Seiros, and Yuri can’t blame him. He himself has been kicked down into Abyss for crimes against the Church and has seen the anger simmering in the eyes of the old knight on the few times they met.

The real question is why  _ now, _ and not before or later. There must be a reason, and Yuri suspects he knows at least part of the answer: Ashe, one of the boys attending the Blue Lions faction of the Academy, and adoptive son of Lonato. In the very likely scenario where the rebellion is crushed, Ashe would remain under the church’s protection. Completely uninvolved in it as Yuri’s knolwledge goes.

Very honorable of Lonato. Chivalrous, even, Yuri thinks with a sad smile.

But those aren’t the only highlights of the last few reports. A student from the Officer’s Academy has gone around asking about Abyss and how to access it, and nobody knows what business he could have down here. Yuri, however, has a good guess. ‘Sylvain José Gautier. That’s his name, isn’t it?’

‘We suspect it. He’s tall, with a strong build, red hair and brown eyes, pale skin.’

‘I see,’ Yuri replies, nodding. ‘Well, I doubt he is a danger to us. In fact, he might be the one in danger here.’ As most coddled nobles are when they try to prove their  _ bravery  _ by bothering those underground. ‘I’ll take care of it. So don’t worry.’

* * *

It is Catherine’s relic that slays Lonato, right in front of Ashe’s eyes, and the boy’s pleas go ignored. It is Dedue who gently takes him away from his corpse, and it is Mercedes who offers him a shoulder to cry on.

Dimitri, he is the one who watches and the one who wants to take part of the blame. This is his kingdom, these are his subjects, and if he were on the throne, if he could go back to Fhirdiad and pry his father’s position from his useless uncle’s hands, he would do it in a moment, and maybe then…

‘Look at the damn road, boar,’ Felix says, snapping him out of his thoughts as he walks by. A strand of hair falls from his bun, and Dimitri’s eyes follow it, wishing to wrap it around his finger. 

No. He shakes his head and sighs, pushing some hair out of his face and following Felix’s advice. Look at the road ahead. He can’t do anything for the souls lost under Lonato’s command just yet, very much like the wails of his father and friends. 

He will wait. He will do so patiently, he will take his time, and when he finally finds them… They will feel the dead’s agony every second they remain alive.

* * *

The leading theory, days after his death, is that Lonato was part of a plot to kill the Archbishop.

Felix himself, he doesn’t believe a word of it. It’s too tacky. Taking a note that very conveniently says they’re planning to assassinate Rhea on the Goddess’ Rite of Rebirth? What an obvious way to keep the Knights of Seiros occupied somewhere else.

The kingdom is in tatters, everyone knows that. The unrest will only get worse as time goes on with that useless man on the throne.If only the boar prince weren’t so focused on old customs. Even Felix would admit he would be a better claim to the throne than this philanderer of a regent they currently have. Felix himself would have him talk to the edge of his sword.

But he can’t, so he swings it at a training dummy instead, and wipes the sweat off his brow with the sleeve of his loose shirt. That green haired guy’s eyes are still on the back of his neck, irritating Felix even more than the current situation.

‘If you’re going to be here, at least pick up a sword and train.’

The student snorts, shaking his head. ‘Oh, no, no, thank you. I’m fine just observing you from afar.’

‘What do you want?’

‘To observe,’ he says, widening his eyes like it is obvious. ‘I just said that.’ 

Felix groans. These are the worst type of people. ‘For what?’

‘Curiosity.’

It’s like talking to a wall. A very thick, annoying wall that Felix wants to punch down. ‘Go observe someone else, then.’

‘But there’s nobody else with a major Crest here.’

‘That’s not my problem.’ Felix turns back to the dummy, pointing his sword at it. Maybe if he imagines this dummy as the guy, he will go away and his growing headache will pass. 

‘Oh, but you could be of help in my research.’ The damn idiot finally steps into the training ground, his arms behind his back. ‘I’m Linhardt, by the way.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘You’re Felix, right? It was hard to find information about you, but, thankfully, I figured things out.’

What would be the worst thing to happen if he smacked this guy with something? Being expelled? It doesn’t sound so bad. ‘This is your last chance to fuck off.’

‘So crass,’ Linhardt says, somehow surprised. ‘Well, I’ll come back later, then. I was getting sleepy, anyway, so good night.’

Felix looks up at the sky. It must be five in the evening, and yet this Linhardt weirdo is wishing him goodnight.

Why are Adrestians so damn strange?

* * *

Lonato and the note that was on him at the time of his death weigh on his mind through the whole month. It’s not only about the tense air around Garreg Mach over the possible attempt on the Archbishop’s life, but also about Ashe’s hunched back and lost expression, and all the civilian lives lost in the battle. 

It was for a greater good, the piety still in him repeats. It was to protect both the Church and the Kingdom. But Dimitri is so much more than his piety. He’s frustrated, incapable of finding a way to reconcile his actions with his ideals. And that makes a poor King.

In the end, he tries to focus on something else: His studies are relatively easy for his mind to slip into, and training is pretty much second nature. He trains with Dedue, attends class, eats with Dedue and their classmates, studies, and the days pass. Tension builds at the monastery as the day of the Goddess’ Rite of Rebirth gets closer, and the already elusive Archbishop is even more absent from the public eye.

On the Blue Lions’ part, they’re preparing to go against the Knights’ orders for the sake of a hunch. When the day comes, they reunite near the Holy Mausoleum and enter it.

Their suspicions turn out to be right. The Holy Mausoleum is swarmed with enemies, and Dimitri’s eyes quickly notice the knight in dark armor standing in their way.

‘Don’t get near him!’ Dimitri warns. Their forces split to avoid the knight, and, oddly enough, he doesn’t try to pursue them. The other enemies are moderately easy to cut through, and they advance steadily towards the commander. 

Dedue blocks an enemy attack directed at Dimitri just as the Professor reaches Seiros’ place of rest, and Dimitri looks up to see them holding a massive sword with an all too familiar orange glow.

A Relic?

The Knights of Seiros arrive then, led by Catherine, and the students gather around Professor Byleth. Everyone is wondering pretty much the same thing, staring at the glowing relic in the Professor’s hand, but Felix looks especially fascinated by the relic. It makes Dimitri’s heart warm, in the middle of all of this.

As they walk out of the Holy Mausoleum, Professor Byleth leaves to meet the Archbishop.

‘That sword,’ he hears Felix muttering. ‘It looked powerful.’

Ingrid huffs. ‘Of course you’d only focus on the sword.’

‘But shouldn’t Seiros’ remains have been there?’ Mercedes questions. ‘Instead, there was that sword…’

‘I’m sure the Archbishop has an explanation,’ Dimitri says, trying to look away from Felix’s excited face. From his glimmering eyes and the raised eyebrows and the slightest of smiles, which altogether make Dimitri’s heart beat a little faster.

As they walk back to their rooms, he hears Felix talking to Sylvain, wondering if the professor will let him at least swing the mysterious Relic. Sylvain laughs, and Dimitri sighs. 

He truly is hopeless.

* * *

Felix thought his resolve to bury Dimitri completely was strong enough, but he still finds moments when the boar’s façade is all too perfect. Moments when his eyes still see the sweet boy Felix was promised to, the soulmate that died in Duscur alongside his brother. Sometimes Dimitri’s corpse still smiles like he’s made of sunshine, hurting Felix’s eyes to the point of tears. Sometimes his eyes glimmer in excitement and it’s like they’re thirteen again, like their bond was never severed.

Dimitri’s hand touches his, breaking the spell, and Felix pulls away, keeping the sword of Zoltan to himself. 

‘...Felix?’

He almost looks sincere in his regret. If Felix were just a little weaker, he’d believe it. ‘This would be wasted on a beast like you,’ he spits, ‘so I’ll find someone else.’

The boar’s mouth hangs open for a while, and he gives Felix the most infuriating response. ‘I- I see. If that’s what you want.’

If this were Dimitri, the conversation wouldn’t end here. Felix wouldn’t be walking out of the training grounds early holding a valuable sword he’s barely even used yet. He wouldn’t be rushing to the classroom, checking if the Professor is there.

As soon as Felix steps into it, Professor Byleth looks up from their papers. They rarely express any emotion at all, but he can guess they’re surprised to see him there by the way their eyes widen. ‘Felix?’

He walks up to their desk and leaves the sword leaning against it. ‘I just-’ Wording things is hard. Especially when they’re about Dimitri. ‘Want you to keep it safe for me. It’s a valuable sword.’

‘Did something happen?’ they ask, and it feels like they’re staring into Felix’s soul. ‘You look flustered.’

‘I’m not flustered. And nothing important happened.’ The Professor opens their mouth to speak, but Felix is already talking again. ‘Just keep it until I need it in battle, if that’s possible.’

After what feels like an eternity of silence, Professor Byleth stands up from their chair and takes a good, long look at the sword before answering. ‘Of course, Felix. But is there a reason why you don’t want to keep it yourself?’

_ It’s tainted by the boar _ is a stupid thing to say to someone that doesn’t have the context. So he shakes his head instead. ‘It’s too big to keep in my room. I’ll take it home when the year ends.’

The Professor nods, believing his lie, and Felix sees the perfect moment to leave. Without lingering for a second, he walks out of the classroom, and decides that, for today, he’ll train in the knight’s hall instead.

* * *

All eyes are on him the moment their monthly assignment is announced. Miklan Anschutz Gautier - a name that still sends a chill down his spine - has stolen the Relic, somehow, and run with it to Conand Tower. His childhood friends look at him with worry and pity; Byleth as well. The others are just confused, curious, but will probably pity him soon too.

In other circumstances he would’ve been annoyed by this, but not now. His whole body is trapped in a whirlwind of thoughts and memories he’d do anything to bury away in the deepest corners of his consciousness.

He doesn’t want to fight Miklan. He doesn’t want to see his face again, hear his voice again. He doesn’t want to be near him, not even to kill him. He doesn’t want to kill his brother, doesn’t loathe him as much as he fears him. The memory of his hand around Sylvain’s neck, pressing down on it as Sylvain begs for air, still feels too vivid to this day. 

His mind is somewhere else, and so he wraps himself in his façade, giving everyone calming smiles and fake laughs. ‘My brother is a piece of shit,’ he says more times than he can count, whenever anyone asks about how he feels. ‘He’s a piece of shit,’ he repeats, again and again. ‘He deserves it.’

But he never talks about himself. Never talks about the way Miklan’s existence still occupies his nightmares, how the cold of the mountain and the humid depths of the well have been encrusted in his bones ever since those incidents happened. 

He plans on continuing the whole month like this, piloted by his well-practiced mask of normality, as he walks to the Blue Lions class - not late, for once, because he hasn’t been able to sleep at all. In fact, he’s early, because Professor Eisner is waiting at the entrance, talking to-

He knows this feeling. His sluggish mind comes back to life like a wave that washes over everything on its path when he sees him. The same violet hair, albeit shorter, the same dark eyelashes, the same piercing eyes framed by purple eyeshadow. He’s wearing heels and an Officer’s Academy uniform, and his stance is relaxed, his lips curled into a sweet smile.

That is until he sees him as well, and the grin vanishes. He looks at Sylvain with a mix of fascination and caution, like a bird about to take flight. 

But the bird doesn’t fly, not this time.

‘Do you two know each other?’ Professor Eisner asks, no emotion in their voice. 

‘We’ve met briefly before,’ Yuri answers, linking his hands behind his back. ‘Isn’t that so, Gautier?’

‘...Y-Yes.’ He feels like he’s just woken up from a deep stupor, so he shakes his head and shows his best smile, which turns out to be a mockery of all the deception he’s practiced before. ‘I wouldn’t call that a proper meeting, though. I didn’t even get your full name.’

‘I think Yuri will be enough for now,’ he declares, turning back to Professor Eisner. ‘We’re set, then. If you need me, you know where to find me, friend.’

With that, Yuri walks away, serene and elegant as a heron, like he hasn’t just rocked whatever was left of Sylvain’s mental stability in one fell swoop. He doesn’t turn around even once.

‘He will be helping us with our next mission,’ the Professor explains, clearly misunderstanding Sylvain’s surprise. ‘He came here to request it.’

Sylvain nods weakly. ‘I see. Oh, right, good morning, professor.’ The façade comes back easily, slipping into his body like a second skin.

‘Good morning, Sylvain. You’re early today,’ they point out, before walking into the class, and Sylvain follows.

Still, Yuri’s eyes stay in his mind for the rest of the day.

* * *

It's strange. He's never felt truly awkward since he was a child and everyone beat it out of him. Yet, when he looks at Yuri, he doesn't know how to go about it; Sylvain can't see him like a normal person. The Goddess supposedly put them together, so it should be easier than with anyone else. The words should flow out of his throat with a sincerity Sylvain has been incapable of before, and yet he becomes clumsier than ever just looking at him.

And that might be a problem.

The way to Conand Tower is tiring for the Seiros troops, but the Faerghan students are used to this weather by now. The endless rain, the mud, the freezing wind, all things they’ve been familiar with since they were children. This is good weather, even, by Faerghus standards.

They stop near Galatea territory, Ingrid’s home, but there’s no time to feel homesick. They have to get to Conand Tower before Miklan gets any funny ideas of trying to escape. They set camp, and Sylvain lights a fire with a flicker of his fingers, smiling proudly when it works. His reason magic isn’t anything to brag about just yet, but, according to the Professor, he has some sort of talent for it.

Someone sits by the fire, and Sylvain jumps on the spot when he sees who it is.

‘Am I really that scary?’ Yuri teases him with a crooked smile. 

‘Oh, you know,’ Sylvain answers, smiling back out of habit. ‘Your beauty is so breathtaking I can’t help but be startled by it.’

Yuri raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. 'Sure… Gautier.' Sylvain’s stomach turns. He can’t describe in words how much he hates being called by his family name. 'About that time back in Rowe…'

His heart beats faster. ‘Yeah?’ 

‘Would you mind if we went somewhere more private?’

He has to know what it sounds like to ask something like that, and it looks like he doesn’t care. And Sylvain doesn’t care either. Why would he? He’s attractive, Yuri is as well, so if this is as easy as Yuri makes it to be, there’s no harm in it. And if it’s not, and Yuri really wants to talk, then...

‘Sure. I’m done with my duties for now.’

‘Great.’

They sneak their way to a small clearing near the camp, and Yuri rests his back against a tree, arms crossed over his chest. Sylvain stands in front of him, one hand behind his neck. ‘So, Rowe.’

Yuri squints. ‘What did you know about me back then?’

‘Not much, really,’ Sylvain shakes his head. ‘I knew there was someone out there that was my soulmate, but nothing else.’

‘So you know how this works?’

‘Yes, I’d say. I’ve seen it happen.’

Yuri hums and his finger taps his arm, but he doesn’t comment on that last sentence. ‘Well, I was wondering if you knew of any way to break it.’

The words fall on Sylvain like a bucket of cold water. It’s a reminder, really: Not even the Goddess could grant him someone’s love, not even her influence could force a person to want him. How foolish of him to think Yuri would be that person. ‘I’m afraid I don’t,’ he says, laughing without any humor, praying that Yuri doesn’t notice. ‘I don’t think there’s any way to undo it.’

Yuri nods, and he wants to apologize.  _ Sorry that you’re stuck with me, sorry that I’m a disappointment, sorry I’m unlovable _ . ‘I don’t mind if you just ignore it and live your life, though,’ he says instead. ‘You’re clearly not into this.’

‘Not really.’ Yuri sighs, shaking his head and linking his hands behind his back. ‘I guess we should go back.’

‘I guess so.’

They start making their way back together, and the uncomfortable silence doesn’t last long. Surprisingly, it’s Yuri who breaks it. ‘About Miklan… he’s your brother, isn’t he?’

Sylvain hums. ‘I bet you’re going to ask me something like if I’m devastated about confronting him,’ which he is, ‘but I’m not.’

Yuri’s eyes suddenly shine with curiosity. It looks good on him. ‘Is that so?’

‘He’s a piece of shit,’ Sylvain explains. It’s the same dialogue he has repeated all month long, the one that makes people uncomfortable and keeps them from asking questions. ‘He deserves whatever befalls him.’

And then, something unexpected happens: Yuri smiles again, but there is a wonderful contempt to it, a frustration Sylvain sees himself in. ‘You’re right.’

Sylvain swallows. Yuri doesn’t know him, not really. They’ve quite literally been in each other’s minds a few times, but he hasn’t seen the times Miklan beat him up or humiliated him. And yet… ‘Do you know him?’

Yuri purses his lips. ‘I’ve had the dubious honor, yes. I don’t consider myself a saint, but I can say he’s not the greatest either.’

_ He really isn’t _ , Sylvain tells himself. ‘Yeah.’

When they reach the camp, they each go their own way, as if nothing has happened.

* * *

Yuri is part of the group of four that arrives first at the top of the tower. The Professor, Sylvain, and Prince Dimitri stand around him, weapons ready. Only Miklan and a small group of goons stand behind them and victory, which is pretty much a guarantee. Now, he just has to squash that man. 

How hypocritical of him, he thinks, as his spells and the Professor’s sword open the way for Dimitri and Sylvain to charge. He and Miklan are not that different: Leaders of people that have been discarded by the system, murderers that make their way through life in mud and blood. He’s no saint, even if he had good intentions. No matter how much he tells himself that he protects the weak, he is ultimately unforgivable.

And he can carry that weight, as long as he has freedom. As long as he can grasp a little of the agency that has been torn from him since birth and put it to good use. 

His sword clashes with Miklan’s Relic, and Yuri stumbles away, taken off guard by just how powerful that damn thing is.

‘You,’ Miklan growls. ‘So now the Knights of Seiros bring whores with them on their little excursions too?’

Yuri wants to reply, but it would be useless at this point.

A ball of fire flies towards Miklan, grazing Yuri’s face. The man screams in pain, and Yuri turns to see Sylvain’s face - he looks terrified, like a child standing before one of his nightmares. ‘That’s enough, Miklan. Hand over the Lance of Ruin and this can end quickly.’

Miklan suddenly looks bigger, grinding his teeth and eyes filled with rage. ‘You,’ he growls, like a feral dog about to bite. ‘Just die already! If it weren’t for you, if only you had never existed-’

‘That’s enough! You’re always saying the same thing!’ Sylvain snaps. ‘I’m tired of this!’

‘Then die!’

Miklan charges towards Sylvain, and Yuri gets up from the floor in a hurry and invokes a wind spell. It isn’t needed, however: The Professor’s sword hits Miklan, who stumbles just enough for Sylvain to dodge his attack.

Miklan retreats, and the four of them regroup just as the other students finally reach them at the top.

‘Hah, not bad for a bunch of coddled brats,’ Miklan growls, ‘but there’s- what-?’

Yuri is the first one to notice it: The dark ooze coming out of the relic, climbing up Miklan’s arm. He tries to let go of the lance, shake the substance off, but it only makes it climb faster, and they watch as it consumes him whole until his desperate screams cease.

But that’s not the end of it. The black mass mutates into a demonic beast, the likes of which Yuri has never seen before, and it screeches into the heavens.

‘What the hell?’ someone says behind him, and Yuri wishes he had the answer. 

The first instinct is to run, of course, and that’s what most of Miklan’s remaining thugs do. One of them falls behind, and Miklan’s- the beast’s claw grabs him, biting off the top half of his body before discarding the rest.

Yuri has seen many distasteful things in his life, but this one’s new.

‘We have to stop it here,’ the Professor says, and, while Yuri agrees, this doesn’t look like an enemy some teenage students should be dealing with. Still, there is no way the Knights of Seiros can make it here in time before they’re all beast food.

So they attack instead. The Professor orders them to surround the beast and attack at the same time to overwhelm it, and the students and Yuri follow. Like this, they chip away at the monster’s defenses, opening wounds on its hardened skin. Yuri observes that the most efficient weapon for this is the professor’s Sword of the Creator, but he will wonder why whenever this nightmare ends.

‘Sylvain!’ one of the students yells, and Yuri’s head turns to his left, where Sylvain stands still as the beast looks down at him.

(It’s a split second, but he sees the beast from Sylvain’s eyes, and knows, somehow, that Miklan is still within the creature, prepared to drag Sylvain to hell with it, and that Sylvain stands there in resignation.

Why?

In the split second he has left like this, he forces Sylvain’s body to dodge the creature’s attack.)

Prince Dimitri plunges his spear into the creature’s forehead, and it wails in pain so loudly Yuri thinks his eardrums will burst. It raises dust when it falls limp to the ground, and dissolves into the air until only Miklan’s corpse remains in its place, eyes and mouth open in a grotesque expression, hand still gripping the Lance of Ruin like a lifeline.

Nobody dares to move for a while, until Sylvain walks up to his brother’s body and kneels next to it.

‘Miklan… My brother...’ 

The way back is silent, save the small and unfruitful attempts at consoling Sylvain. Yuri doesn’t even try; there are probably too many complicated emotions rotating in the man’s head. Mourning is already difficult, but mourning someone like Miklan must be something else.

Still, Felix, Ingrid and Prince Dimitri try to stand close to him, as if guarding him from any harm that could come from the outside but ignorant to how to help with what’s going on inside.

Yuri sighs. He has a lot of work to do once they’re back at the monastery.

* * *

Miklan’s dying scream keeps him awake at night. He hears it when he’s about to sleep and it shakes him awake, beads of sweat rolling down his temples and cheeks. The scream comes back with memories of Sylvain’s childhood, locked up in the Gautier manor at Miklan’s - lack of - mercy, and his whole body hurts like the bruises are still there, festering under healthy skin.

So he surrenders and gets up before the darkness of this room can engulf him. He gets dressed and walks out of his room with no clear objective. There’s the hallway, the stairs, and then the open and cold outside. There’s a fresh breeze that helps him clear his mind just enough for him to question what the hell he’s doing, but he’s good at ignoring his own common sense in favor of the thrill of possibly hurting himself.

Maybe he should go to the tavern, all the way down to the citadel. Maybe he should sleep with the first girl he finds. Maybe she will be married, and the husband will find out and kill him. Sylvain laughs bitterly at the thought. Dodging the night guards can’t be that hard, can it?

As it turns out, he’s right. Or maybe he’s just lucky, because by the time he gets to the entrance, the guards are waiting for someone: The gate is open and they’re talking amongst themselves, and many years of sneaking out of places where his brother could find him come in handy. He’ll come back by sunrise, for sure.

He makes his way to the tavern, which is as lively as he’d expect in the middle of the night. It smells like sweat and beer, and it looks simply disgusting. He wouldn’t be able to stand it if he wasn’t so tired.

He sits down on the only free chair that looks mildly clean - he’ll have to wash his pants tomorrow - and simply observes. There are some cute ladies he could hit on, a few gentlemen that sort of catch his eye. He settles for a woman that looks at least five years older than him, but attractive nonetheless.

‘Hey,’ he says, and the words echo in his head like he isn’t the one saying them. Like he’s far from himself, looking at everything through a curved lens. ‘I just couldn’t help…’

He says nonsense. She smiles and laughs. Old song and dance. But there is an interesting wrinkle to it this time.

Someone grabs him by the neck of his jacket and turns him around. A man is staring at him with fire in his eyes, lips pursed in anger before he speaks. ‘What are you doing, you piece of garbage?’

Oh. Miklan would say the same thing.  _ Piece of garbage _ , that’s so funny. Sylvain laughs. ‘I don’t know, what am I doing?’

‘Hitting on my girl, that’s what you’re doing.’

‘Oops,’ he says, laughing again like this is the funniest thing in the world. ‘Sorry, man…’

A closed fist lands on his cheek and the contact burns. Sylvain doesn’t even try to defend himself when the guy keeps beating him, he’s still laughing and apologizing instead, tearing up because this is so hilarious, how Miklan is dead and yet his skin still hurts like he’s going to die.

‘He’s just a kid!’ he hears the lady say. ‘Wait!’

Nobody said that when he was little. Why didn’t anyone say that back when he really was a kid? This man’s hand around his neck feels just like Miklan’s, and maybe he’s an envoy from whatever hell Miklan is in now sent to do his work.

He wouldn’t mind dying here. He wants to die here. There is no use for the likes of him. His friends would be better off without him.

And yet death doesn’t come to him just yet. Someone says something, and the man lets go of his neck. Sylvain takes a breath of air and lies on the cold and dirty floor, eyes filled with tears. It sounds like a different fight is starting, but then the man just leaves, and a familiar face looks at him from above.

‘Help me get this guy to his room, Balthus.’

‘Sure, boss.’

Someone lifts him up and throws him over their shoulder, and Sylvain groans, but he’s too tired to complain properly. For all he knows, they could be kidnapping him, but he can’t give a shit about it.

When he passes out, he has a dream about mockingbirds. He’s never seen one beyond illustrated books, and yet he hears them sing like they’ve always been there, and they fly over his head and into an endless horizon.

He wakes up to pain and a healing spell hovering over his cheek. ‘So you’re awake. Finally.’

Yuri’s eyes look warmer under candlelight. They make Sylvain’s heart skip a beat. ‘Ah… Where…’

‘Your bedroom. I think.’ Yuri shrugs. ‘It was the only open one. The last one on the top row.’ Sylvain nods, and that gets a smile out of Yuri. ‘Well, good to know. I couldn’t find the physician, so I had to make do with some basic faith magic. I recommend you visit her tomorrow, though.’

Sylvain nods and tries to sit up, but a pang of pain crosses his torso, forcing him to lie back down. ‘Fuck…’

‘It could’ve been worse. That man looked ready to kill you on the spot.’

Sylvain laughs weakly. ‘He really did…’ That raises another question, though. ‘W-Why… did you bother?’

‘Before you ask, it’s none of that soulmate business.’ Yuri shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in Sylvain’s chair. ‘I thought it convenient to have someone like you in my debt.’

‘I see…’ It’d be a comfortable truth, if Sylvain believed it. Yes, people are interested in him due to his Crest and inheritance, but Yuri could’ve easily pulled the soulmate card on him. He could’ve pretended to be interested in him from the start. ‘I guess… I have to do something for you now.’

‘Uh-huh. Well.’ He gets up from the chair. ‘Good night, Gautier. Rest all you can.’

‘Don’t-’ Sylvain groans, and Yuri halts. ‘Don’t… call me that.’

‘Gautier?’ Sylvain nods. ‘Alright. How about  _ fox, _ then? It fits you pretty well.’

Sylvain huffs and grins. ‘Yeah. That works.’

* * *

The sleepless nights started after the Tragedy. Dimitri misses the times before that, when he would go to bed and sleep like a rock, waking up to a castle maid opening the curtains and letting the meager light of the early Fhirdiad morning in. Whenever Felix visited, Dimitri would help him sneak into his room, and staying awake all night in the immensity of Dimitri’s room had felt like an adventure. After the Tragedy, Dedue and him had shared a room for a while, because of Dedue’s safety but also because of their ongoing nightmares. 

Now, he sits on the edge of his bed all alone, rubs his face and runs his fingers through his hair. Dedue is in the bedroom under his, but he is the only person in this one.

Since he’s wasting yet another night, he might as well get something done. He lights a candle and leaves it on his desk, where some papers and books rest. Some are books Ashe recommended to him, some are Church records for his investigation, and some are for an assignment due next week. But for tonight he will focus on the first batch.

This one is a romance novel between a prince and a knight, with plenty of heroic deeds on the latter’s part to impress the former. Not the sort of thing Dimitri would pick up by himself, but the knight reminds him of Ingrid, and that makes him smile.

Romance isn’t a thing people in Faerghus focus on, besides the occasional novel. The operas Sylvain would attend in Enbarr have always sounded like a little too much for Dimitri, but maybe that’s because, compared to other people, he had it easy from birth. Felix had always been there, had always been, undoubtedly, the person Dimitri was to be wed to and continue the Blaiddyd line with, because the Goddess wanted it so.

And then Felix had decided that not even the Goddess’ will would be enough to forgive him from his sins. 

He bookmarks the book and closes it, letting his hand rest on its cover. He isn't nearly tired enough to go back to sleep, but he doesn't feel like reading anymore.

Then, he hears something from the hallway. That isn't new; Sylvain has the bad habit of bringing people to his room late at night. An attitude Dimitri has tried to convince him out of, but he does it anyway. 

So he just ignores it and steels himself for yet another sleepless night. 

But the _ usual sounds  _ that come from Sylvain’s bedroom when he brings a girl to stay the night with him never come. Instead, there’s silence, stillness, and then, conversation. The voices are subdued, but he can still recognize Sylvain’s.

He peeks out of his bedroom door, just in time to hear the other person walk out and close the door behind them. Dimitri opens his own door, and some moonlight falls on the person's face.

Purple eyes, violet hair down to his neck, and a sly smile, alongside a heavily modified academy uniform. His name is Yuri, if he remembers correctly from the Miklan mission, and his smile widens at Dimitri's surprise.

‘Not who you expected to see, Your Highness?’

‘I suppose not.' He shakes his head, and turns it to Sylvain's bedroom. 'Did something happen to Sylvain?’

‘He got into a fight.’ Yuri shrugs, like that isn’t information that makes Dimitri gasp. ‘Luckily enough, I was there to help. But be sure he sees Manuela tomorrow, hm? Just in case.’

Dimitri frowns. ‘Of course,’ he manages. ‘Thank you for your help.’

Yuri stares at him for an indeterminate amount of time, appraising him from head to toe, and finally leaves, the heel of his boots resounding through the whole hallway. When the sound vanishes, Dimitri walks the steps between his bedroom and Sylvain’s, knocking on the door.

‘Sylvain?’ He mutters, hearing a groan from the inside. ‘I’m coming in if you don’t mind.’

Careful, he twists the doorknob and closes the door behind him after entering. There is only the moonlight that makes it through the windows to help him see, and he stumbles against Sylvain’s chair, placed by his bed.

‘Mmmrr Highness?’

‘Yes, it’s me,’ Dimitri replies, sitting down in that same chair. ‘Are you alright? I saw Yuri walking out of your room, and he said something about a fight.’

‘Oh. Hm. Yeah.’ Sylvain’s voice sounds beyond tired, like most of his soul has left his body. Dimitri bites his lower lip. ‘Don’t worry ‘bout it, Your Highness…’

‘You can’t ask me to not worry when my friend is in pain, Sylvain,’ Dimitri says, leaning towards the bed in an attempt to see something. ‘I know the last mission was hard for you…’

‘It’s okay,’ Sylvain interrupts. ‘I’d rather not talk about it, Your Highness.’

‘That’s alright.’ Even if it hurts just a little bit. It could be - it would be very likely, in fact - that Sylvain is emotionally and physically exhausted. But it could also be that he doesn’t want to trust Dimitri with whatever thoughts are going through his mind.

Dimitri just wants to be there for the people that matter most to him. ‘Tomorrow I’ll take you to Professor Manuela’s office. Is that alright?’

‘Yeah,’ Sylvain replies after a few seconds of silence. ‘That’s alright.’

* * *

When news of Flayn’s disappearance reaches Abyss, Yuri has two thoughts. The first one goes to Seteth, and the second one goes to Abyss itself.

There’s little to no time for Yuri to react to it: Soon the entrance is swarming with Knights of Seiros claiming they have to keep watch and investigate every single home in search of the girl. This is not so much a result of Seteth’s orders, but more the superiority Yuri sees in their eyes, how they stare down at them like they’re the filth stuck on the sole of their boot.

A vision they’re used to, but that fills Yuri with rage nonetheless. 

‘If we had any hints to the girl’s whereabouts,’ he explains, keeping his voice and posture even, ‘I’d report it personally. So this search is unnecessary.’

‘Still,’ the captain insists, ‘these are direct orders from Seteth.’

Yuri doubts these were indeed Seteth’s words, but there’s little he can do about it. So he smiles instead, shrugging. ‘Alright, then. There’s a tavern down here, probably not the best you’ve ever tasted,’ he mentions, under the intense scrutiny of the soldiers, ‘but I bet you’re exhausted from exploring that maze.’

Murmurs amongst the soldiers. Yuri’s smile widens, even if this isn’t the most satisfying ending. ‘You’ve never been here before, have you? Allow me to be your host.’

The captain’s eyes are fixated on him, a familiar expression of contempt and something else that disgusts Yuri. ‘We don’t have time for this.’

‘Rest and nourishment are vital for a battalion to function, aren’t they? It won’t take long if your knights behave.’

His eyes stare at the captain’s, steady and defiant despite his complacent tone. When he blinks and turns around to talk to his soldiers, Yuri knows he’s won.

The inn isn’t so far from the entrance, but it’s hard to not notice a small battalion of Knights of Seiros marching through the narrow streets of the Abyss. That alone should be enough to warn everyone, but Yuri won’t feel safe until the damn knights are gone.

As he walks out of the inn, minutes later, someone follows him. Yuri feels his eyes on the back of his neck, so he doesn’t jump when he grabs his wrist. Harsh and careless, as if he’s grabbing an animal.

‘Who do you think you are?’ 

Yuri’s first thought is to cut off his hand. But he stays calm. Harming another knight in the open would be the end, even if this is his territory. ‘Hm? What’s wrong, sir?’

‘I could kill you at any moment,’ the captain says, spitting the words out, ‘and nobody would do anything, because you’re just a rat crawling in the dirt. A whore with delusions of grandeur because you command this cesspool. Are we clear?’

If only this man were telling him something he doesn’t already know, something that he hasn’t heard many a time already. He was born in the dirt, and he will die in it. 

(Then, like a vision, he sees the main street of Abyss. With no time to question what  _ he  _ could be doing here, Yuri uses these not so foreign legs to run towards the inn.)

When he comes back, his first instinct is to look down, deferent. ‘Yes, of course. I am very sorry for overstepping, I should’ve known my place.’

It works like a charm. The captain lets go of his wrist and the ire in his eyes dies down. ‘We’ll stay until late to fulfill our mission. I hope we can have a private conversation later.’

‘Of course.’

The captain huffs and leaves. Yuri stands in place, hands curled into fists. He’s gotten away with it once again, and he should focus on that. He massages his wrist and breathes in, walking down to the main street as if nothing has happened.

But someone stands on his way. His brown eyes are unmistakable, and so is the red hair, hidden under his hoodie until he pulls it off. ‘Hey-’

‘That’s a bad idea,’ he says immediately, pulling the hood back on. ‘It’s like you’re asking to be recognized and robbed blind.’

‘Yeah, you’re right.’ He smiles, as if he hasn’t sneaked into the most dangerous part of Garreg Mach. ‘In my defense, I was excited to see you.’

‘Oh, were you? Can’t say I’m surprised,’ Yuri snickers, linking his hands behind his back. ‘But, seriously, you shouldn’t be here. When all of this mess is done, I’ll get you back to the surface.’

He walks away, and Sylvain follows him like a baby duck. ‘This mess being the knights, I assume?’

‘Indeed.’

Sylvain hums. ‘The guy from earlier…’

Remembering him and that brief moment of lightheadedness makes his stomach churn. ‘So you saw him.’

‘...I did,’ he admits, and it looks like he wants to say something else. ‘Sorry I couldn’t get there in time.’

The reply comes almost as naturally as breathing. ‘I don’t need you rescuing me.’

After a beat of silence, Sylvain concedes, ‘you don’t. But you rescued me, and deserve something in return.’

‘If that’s the case, trying to pull the knight in shining armor with me won’t work,’ Yuri says in a chuckle. ‘You’ll have to do something a little more practical.’

‘Practical, huh,’ Sylvain says, and, sweet Sothis, Yuri can hear the lopsided smirk on his face. ‘I’ll keep it in mind.’

Goddess knows what’s going on in this silly noble boy’s head, but Yuri is too busy to give it any more thought.

* * *

Jeritza’s sword fighting has been sloppy lately. Felix knows what a sword fighter with something else on their mind looks like, and Jeritza is distracted. Too excitable, too furious in his movements. Half of Felix’s attention is on Ingrid’s posture because she asked for his advice in the first place - something about her needing harsh and sincere criticism, but Felix still looks back at Jeritza from time to time, as if he could figure it out just by looking at him.

‘How was that?’ Ingrid asks, and Felix shakes his head. ‘Were you even looking, Felix?’

‘Mmmh,’ he groans, massaging his temple. ‘I got distracted. Do it again.’

Ingrid huffs. ‘What is so distracting that would keep  _ you  _ from looking at a sword?’

Felix side-eyes Jeritza one more time before inching closer to Ingrid. ‘Don’t you think his swordsmanship is strange?’

‘Of course, it was  _ another  _ sword,’ Ingrid murmurs, rolling her eyes. ‘I suppose it could be? He’s been wrecking those dummies for sure.’

‘It wasn’t like that before.’ He sees Ingrid raise an eyebrow and look at Professor Jeritza, and then back at him. ‘And Flayn has disappeared.’ Probably kidnapped, even if Sylvain’s theory could be possible. But he won’t admit to have considered it.

Ingrid frowns. ‘...Maybe. But accusing someone of kidnapping because of their swordplay…’

Felix will admit to himself it’s shaky. Professor Jeritza could be stressed due to a myriad of reasons. And yet Felix’s gut feeling says otherwise.

* * *

Despite the feeling of ever present danger that floats on the air of Garreg Mach, or maybe because of it, Dimitri still trains until dark. He’s not the only one: Dedue stands near him on the training grounds, practicing his axe drills, and, in the other corner, Felix swings his sword. Some strands of hair have fallen from his usual bun, framing his face and sticking to it, and his eyes look through the training dummy, focused on something else.

In between drills, Dimitri observes him, his graceful movements, his gloved hands, his heavy breathing, and he can still feel it; the fire in his stomach and the impulse to touch Felix. In the moments where he allows his mind to drift away from the hay-filled enemy in front of him, he thinks of holding his hand, kissing his lips, pulling him closer until there isn’t air between them.

And then, he discards those thoughts and focuses on the cold touch of his lance. Because he isn’t allowed to love Felix anymore, even if the intensity of these feelings only grow with the passing days. He has vengeance to fulfill, and Felix has a grudge to hold.

Vigilant as he is, he notices when Felix leaves the sword in its place and makes his way to the training grounds’ entrance. Dimitri looks up: It’s dark already, and even with the guards and the lit torches, the short way to the bedrooms is potentially dangerous.

‘Felix!’ he calls out, and Felix turns around, an annoyed crease between his eyebrows. Dimitri wonders how to approach this in the split second he has to continue before Felix decides to ignore him. If he says he shouldn’t go alone, Felix will just shoot him down with an  _ I do whatever I want, _ so he tries something else. ‘You… Can we go with you?’

Felix’s mouth hangs open for a second, and Dimitri readies himself for rejection. So it surprises him when Felix says instead, ‘do whatever you want.’

Dimitri turns to Dedue, who has already put aside his axe. ‘Do you mind if we stop now?’ 

Dedue shakes his head, and Dimitri thanks him with a weak smile. Felix doesn’t wait, though, so Dimitri rushes to leave the lance in its place and, followed by his retainer, goes after Felix. He’s a few meters in front of them, and maybe it’s best that they keep some distance.

And still, Dimitri finds himself wanting to walk closer, close enough to hold his hand. Like back when they were kids and would always walk everywhere together, glued by an affection built from the cradle. 

They get to the stairs, which means the danger is most certainly gone. Felix disappears into the hallway without a word, and Dimitri sighs away his desires. When he turns to wish Dedue a good night, he finds his friend’s eyes staring into the thick darkness of the hallway Felix vanished into with his brows knit together.

‘What’s on your mind, my friend?’

The question pulls Dedue out of his thoughts, and his eyes refocus on Dimitri.

‘It’s unimportant.’

Dimitri sighs again. It’s probably something about Felix and the treatment he gives Dimitri, if he dared to make a guess. They haven’t liked each other very much ever since the Western Rebellion. ‘Please, Dedue, remember you can always share your thoughts with me if you wish to do so.’

‘I’ll keep it in mind,’ and that’s as much as an answer and he will get. It really must be something he thinks will offend Dimitri. ‘Thank you, Your Highness.’

Dimitri sighs, and decides that it’s fine. He’s too tired to press on, and so is Dedue. ‘Sleep well, my friend.’

‘Good night, Your Highness.’

As he walks up the stairs and makes his way to his room, Dimitri thinks about the apparent insurmountable distance between him and Dedue, and the young man’s refusal to say his name ever since he found out how to say his title in Fodlanese. His whole class, in general, put him into a sort of pedestal, except Felix and maybe Mercedes, when all he wants is the voice of someone calling his name again.

When he stops at the door to Felix’s room instead of his own, he thinks about Felix’s voice saying it. What was it that he used to say it before he turned to call him boar? Dimitri can barely remember.

_ Dima, _ Felix would call him. Those four letters had been so filled with love back then. Before Felix had seen the ugliest parts of him.

_ Dima.  _

_ The Dimitri I knew died in the Tragedy. _

He shakes his head and continues to his room.

* * *

Once Felix closes the door of his room, he hurriedly takes off his vest, gloves, and shirt, throwing them at the chair. He then unlaces the corset over his chest and breathes in, filling his lungs as much as he can, and breathes it all out. Then, he coughs, one, two times, and the damn thing joins the pile of sweaty clothes on the chair. His father had advised him against training with the binder on, but it’s three times more uncomfortable if he doesn’t.

He sits on the edge of the bed then, unties his bun and lets the hair fall down his shoulders and back. His eyes, tired of another day of training and hypervigilance, stare at the second drawer of his desk as if what’s inside calls him.

He answers. Under the cover of the letters written by his father - he still has to answer the latest one, but he’ll do that later - there is a black iron spur. The only piece of Glenn’s armor he had been able to save back then, before his armor was buried in the place where his body should’ve been.

No corpse. No bones. Nothing had remained of his brother except his memory and the armor he had served. Felix dislikes dwelling on the past in the melancholic, glorifying way his father does, but he refuses to let his brother vanish.

The cold touch of the silver ring hanging from his neck serves a similar purpose. Dimitri had given it to him when he was still himself. When his body and mind were still his own and Felix thought things would never change, because why would they?

The ring still fits on his finger, and he wishes it wouldn’t. It glistens next to the mark on the back of his hand, the star of Blaiddyd. His nails bury into it, scratching it and leaving a trail of red that will vanish soon. If he could peel off the skin and start anew, if he could stop being linked to Dimitri, if he could simply be Felix without everything else, he would do it.

What then? What would be left? He doesn’t know. He wants to know.

* * *

He’s a hypocrite, really, so concerned with Felix’s safety. Like some other nights, his search takes him to the Garreg Mach library. Many students walk in there in search of knowledge about magic, history or places they could never imagine otherwise, but Dimitri’s fingers always hover over arguably the most boring sections: The church’s accounting. Books full of names and numbers that become meaningless to the exhausted eye of a seventeen-year-old student, but Dimitri scans through them, pen and paper in hand, searching for a single name for the truth.

_ Volkhard von Arundel. _

A pious man. Lord Arundel had believed fervently in the church, donating large sums of money until 1174. Anyone else reading this report would think he died or fell into financial ruin, but neither were the case. His step-uncle was still very much alive and well-off. His eyes keep staring at the pages, at the sums of money and the sudden halt, like he’s reaching for a mystery and about to grab it, but never quite able to.

The second floor of the library is off limits for the students, and nobody in the staff should be awake. And yet, a plank of wood over Dimitri’s head creaks slightly, alerting him.

‘Who’s there?’

A sigh. Of relief, perhaps? Dimitri closes the book and folds the paper with his notes. It might have not been a good idea to call out the intruder, but they’re both the same, after all. People that probably shouldn’t be there, if they can’t conduct their research by daylight.

‘Oops,’ a familiar voice says. ‘Good night, Your Princeliness.’

‘Claude?’

That’s the only person that ever calls him by that title. And, as he walks down the stairs to the second floor, Claude’s figure is indeed illuminated by the candlelight lit by Dimitri. 

‘What are you doing here?’ Dimitri asks, and the Golden Deer leader smiles and puts his hands up. One of them is holding a book. 

‘Just investigating a little.’

‘On the second floor?’

‘But what are you doing here, Your Princeliness?’ Dimitri frowns. He knows when a person is blatantly deflecting a question, and it doesn’t escape his eyes when Claude casually hides the book behind his back and leans forward. ‘I thought you were all about righteousness.’

‘I simply couldn’t sleep,’ Dimitri explains, talking in half truths. ‘So I decided to read.’

‘Good choice.’ He pauses, pondering something in his head, and his smile decreases. ‘I do the same thing myself, sometimes.’

‘How odd we haven’t coincided until now, then.’ It sounds worse than Dimitri intends it, but Claude doesn’t look offended by his words. He sits down, choosing the table right by Dimitri’s, and leaves the mysterious book on his lap, with its cover down. Concealed from unwanted eyes. 

‘Can I ask you something a little personal?’

Dimitri’s shoulders tense up. ‘Sure.’ 

‘Are you and Felix… Soulmates?’

Dimitri blinks. Right, Claude wouldn’t know. He only joined House Riegan a year ago, how could he? ‘...Indeed, we are.’

Some years back he might have said it with the utmost pride and joy in his voice, back when Felix would still look at him like they were each other’s guiding light. But those days are well past him by now.

‘Thought so.’ Claude looks pleased with himself, at least. ‘But Felix doesn’t… uhm…’

‘He doesn’t enjoy interacting with me very much,’ Dimitri completes. ‘He has his own reasons, and I respect them.’

‘I see.’ Claude nods, considering what to say next in silence, and Dimitri takes the chance to put the accounting book back on the shelf where it belongs. ‘So what’s the procedure?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The procedure when you find out you’re someone’s soulmate. Is it always getting married? Or are there exceptions?’

‘Not many. But there are some. The Fraldarius family…’ Dimitri looks away. Is this his thing to tell Claude? Wouldn’t it be better if Felix himself told him that? Even though he’d never disclose this. ‘There are unreciprocated soulmates, sometimes. It’s extremely rare, though.’

‘And I assume the Fraldarius family has a history with that?’

Dimitri doesn’t answer, but silence can speak volumes sometimes. Thankfully, Claude stands up from his chair, taking the book with him. Dimitri can’t even try and take a look at the cover. ‘Thank you for the chat, Your Princeliness. I myself think I’m tired enough to finally catch some sleep, so I’ll head back to my room.’

‘I hope you rest well, Claude. Be careful.’

He turns around and smiles at him, book pressed against his chest. ‘Likewise, Your Highness.’

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading up to this point, and I hope you enjoyed it!! If you did, leave a comment telling me your favorite part, or anything at all! Next chapter will probably come out in the second half of the month.


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